


Most Wanted: The Chase

by JayWrites



Series: Most Wanted: The Series [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2019-10-25 10:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 27,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17723534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayWrites/pseuds/JayWrites
Summary: Det. Evers is firm in his mission to track down and capture The Chemist, Deadshot, and Mr. Ramon. But what is he willing to risk to stop this deadly trio? His sanity? His job? The lives of his wife and child?





	1. Respect Is Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective Evers is stuck in his investigation and Barry gets a promising proposition.

They were working together. He knew it. The captain knew it. But the evidence didn’t support it. All the connections between Allen, The Ramons & Wests were finite at most and arbitrary at best. Still Detective Danny Evers knew there was _something_. He could feel it in his gut. “Your gut is not admissible in court, Evers,” Captain Singh said. “Find me something concrete.”

Danny looked at his watch. It was a little after 3 a.m. His next shift started at ten and he still hadn’t been to bed yet. It didn’t help that his newborn son hindered his slumber as well. Usually his wife, Thalia, would tend to the child but she had the night shift at the hospital and wouldn’t be off until six. Just three more hours. Three long, tiresome hours until he could pawn his son onto his mother. He adored the child but, at times, it seemed as if he had a vendetta against his father sleeping. Like tonight, twice now he put his son down; and twice he awoke after barely an hour, screaming at the top of his little lungs for…something. It wasn’t food. Or a dirty diaper. It was just nonstop screaming. Danny had to hold the infant in his arms and walk him around the house for him to finally rest. It was inconvenient. He couldn’t tend to both his case _and_ the child.

He watched the tiny sweet brown blob of fat they named Sebastian. Okay the kid was cute. Especially now as he softly slept cradled in his father’s arms. If Danny was careful, he could put the babe in his crib and return to this case. He tried it. He managed to sneak back to the nursery and place the child in his bed; yet before he got two feet out the door, the loud wailing resumed. “Okay! Okay, kid!” Danny sighed—though he wanted to cry—and picked his son up again. “Daddy’s got you.”

Four o’clock neared. Danny sat at the kitchen table, files spread open around him. The baby rested in a basinet that Danny gently rocked with his feet. “Okay… what am I missing?” he whispered as he rubbed his tired eyes. He had followed Singh’s instructions and put pressure on Barry Allen. All his known haunts were watched meticulously. If Allen had so much as thought about entering a place, the CCPD would be on him like white on rice. Except, nothing happened. Two and a half months had passed and nothing. The Red Lace, Happy’s Bar, S.T.A.R. Labs, the Pier. There was no sight of Barry Allen anywhere. It was as if he had vanished completely.

“People don’t just disappear,” Danny said to himself as he studied a three-year-old picture of Barry entering The Red Lace. “Where are you?”

\--------

Barry took a sip of his scotch as the beauty in front of him wined her body to the intoxicating beat. He hadn’t planned on coming here tonight. He wanted a drink, but all his favorite spots were on lockdown. The police were after him hard. There were rumors Singh was gunning for Commissioner and he was desperate to but a chokehold on the major crime lords. Barry wasn’t a crime boss. In recent years, his focus was mainly contract work. He created and sold chemicals to the highest bidder. He knew his work put him on the CCPD’s (and the Feds’) radar but he hadn’t been active in a year or two. After word got to him that Oliver Queen was singing like a fucking canary about his business, he figured it was best to lay low. He was good at that, after all. It was a skill honed in his youth. He spent the first decade of his life hiding from the quick temper—and even quicker hands—of his father. Compared to that, hiding from the police was cake. If he couldn’t go to Happy’s or the Lace, then he would have to opt for an obscure old haunt of his instead: Dulce.

Barry didn’t like strip clubs. He always felt out of place at them. Maybe because when he first entered one at the tender age of fourteen, he _was_ out of place.

He was a runner for a dealer named Paris. He was quiet. Hardly ever spoke unless spoken to. And sometimes not even then. You had to earn his conversation. It frustrated others but never Paris. He understood it. Respected it. Barry also hadn’t grown into his height yet and his face still held their round cheeks, so people often thought he was much younger. Some would assume he was no more than ten. And no one suspects a ten-year-old of engaging in illegal activities. It also didn’t hurt that he was white. Central City prided itself on being “progressive”, but it was slow on living up to the label. He often got no more than a pat on the wrist compared to his peers of color. He didn’t elicit fear from people. Only concern and empathy. So, the sweet-faced, seemingly innocent boy often passed under the radar. Rarely seen or heard or regarded. Paris liked that. He liked Barry. More importantly, he trusted him.

He and the kid were close. Though Barry hesitated to call him a friend. Sure, Paris increased his cut, and, though it didn’t make him wealthy, it allowed him to be comfortable enough to leave his group home and make one at a cheap motel. And, yeah, when Paris found out he was shacking up at some mangy joint he took him in. Gave him a bed, food, taught him the game. He introduced him to a new world. Got him into places he should have never been. Clubs, bars, strip joints. Young Barry stuck out like a sore thumb. Too young to be there. Too young to partake in the activities. But he fit perfectly by Paris’s side.

He taught him how to fight differently. What to do when your fists weren’t enough. How to cut an opponent down to size. Literally. Paris put a knife in his hand at fifteen. Showed him which places cut deep and bled fast. He put a gun in it soon after. Showed him how to hold it, how to aim and shoot, how to get accustomed to seeing the life leave a person. He taught him what respect and power really meant. “They say respect is earned,” he once told Barry, “but that’s bullshit. Respect is taken. You gotta fight to get it; fight to keep it. And when someone dares to disrespect you… Don’t be afraid to put that motherfucker in his place, you understand, boy?” For better or worse, Paris made him a man.

But these things did not make them friends. There was never any confusion about who he and Paris were to each other. The man was a cutthroat, after all. If Barry slipped up, he would be just another young corpse on the city street. So, he remained quiet. Watched all Paris’s moves. Absorbed every lesson.

Paris loved him like a son. But when Barry wanted to leave at seventeen, after three years devoted to this man, Paris refused. He stuck a gun to the teen’s temple. No one left without him releasing them. Plus, he invested a lot in this kid. And Barry expected him to just let him walk? To throw all that time away? Shame. “You must be out your mind, white boy, to think I’ma just let you walk away from me. After all I gave you? You wanna leave? Nah. You got to kill me first, nigga.”

Barry tried to. Hell, he _wanted_ to. They fought. Beat each other senseless until their bodies dropped in exhaustion, covered in each other’s blood. Somehow—miraculously—Barry got the upper hand. Maybe it was luck or fate. Or maybe Paris let him win out of sheer curiosity. Whatever it was, Barry had defeated him. Almost. He dragged his broken and bruised body to his feet. He nearly toppled over when he reached for his boss’s discarded weapon. Barry’s hand trembled as he raised the gun. “Respect… is taken,” he said between shuddered breaths.

Paris smiled like a proud father. “You got to fight… to keep it. Question is: Can you, boy? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya… if you don’t… If you don’t kill me right now and take your fucking respect… you’re not gonna make it out of this building alive. If I don’t kill you, my men will. That’s on God. Can you do it, huh? Can you take the shot?”

Barry’s finger twitched on the trigger. But he couldn’t pull it.

“Can you take the fucking shot, boy?” Paris goaded.

Barry swallowed hard as he now held the gun with both hands. All he had to do was let one go. One bullet to the chest and he could be free. But, oh God, he just couldn’t pull it.

Paris chuckled at the teen’s hesitance. “I knew it.” He grunted as he pulled himself up. He had to balance the sudden full weight of his six-foot-four frame on his weakened body. “I fucking knew it,” he repeated. He snatched the gun from Barry’s hands. Barry didn’t even fight him. Paris was a man of his word. If he said he would kill him, then that was it. There would be no tomorrow for Barry Allen. Sure enough, the man re-aimed the gun at his temple. Barry shut his eyes and braced for his death.

But it didn’t come.

Instead Paris wrapped his arms around the teen’s slender frame. A hug. “Okay, kid,” he said. “You can go.” He pulled away from him and opened the door. Barry blinked in disbelief. Was this a trick? Would he wait until his back was turned and shoot him? Admittedly, that wasn’t Paris’s style, but Barry remained cautious. He eyed the gun now hanging limply in the man’s hand. Paris rolled his eyes as he tucked the weapon in the back of his pants. “No bullshittin’, kid. Sometimes respect _is_ earned. Go!” he repeated. “But don’t fucking come back.” The words were hard, but his tone was soft; wistful. As if he already missed him.

In some ways, Barry would miss him as well. No, they were not friends, and Barry did not love him, but he appreciated him. He spared his life, yes, but he also took him in and cared for him. No matter how hard this man could be, he was thankful for his kindness. He wouldn’t express it in words. It was not his way. Instead, Barry nodded his immense gratitude as he limped out the door.

He was met by Paris’s men. “What do you want us to do, boss?” one asked as they blocked Barry from moving further.

“He’s good,” Paris answered. “Let him go.” Barry thanked him again with another nod; Paris returned it then closed the door.

That was the last, and perhaps most important, lesson he learned from his ex-mentor: Mercy.

Barry now chuckled at the old memory. He had no idea why his mind conjured it. Maybe it was being in this place. He hadn’t been here since he was a member of Paris’s crew all those years ago. Barry never went into places like this. Mainly because he couldn’t get in alone. When Paris came, Young Barry was right in tow. No one questioned who the cherub faced white boy with him was. They just pulled back the curtain of the VIP and brought him a bottle of whatever his mentor was drinking.

He really should not have been here. Then again, his father should not have killed his mother. In turn he should not have gone into the system where he traded one abusive home for another. Then he would not have spent his formative years in the care of a criminal who thought a place like this was fine for an underaged kid. But it _did_ happen. And places like this—regardless of his affection or distaste for them—were more like home than the actual ones he grew up in. He laughed quietly again, this time somewhat bitterly, before taking a sip of his scotch.

“Am I boring you?” the woman gyrating before him asked.

Barry had been so deep in thought that he completely forgot about the poor girl. “No, hon. You’re doing great.”

She straddled him. “Obviously not if I couldn’t hold your attention.” She ground her crotch on his causing Barry to suck in a breath.

There was a strict “no touching” rule at this club. If anyone dared got handsy, they’d lose them. But Barry knew how these things worked. Private dances and VIP operated differently. Not always. If you initiated something with the wrong girl, you’d end up in the E.R. You had to be clever. Subtle. You’d have to read between the lines for her invite.

Like now. How—what did she say her name was? Candy? Like how Candy leaned against him, their lips just shy of touching. Like how she rode him as if they were already in the heat of it. How she allowed his finger to trail up her thigh. She was open for business.

She whispered in his ear, “If you wanna play, it’s five hundred for oral; a thousand for a fuck; two for both.” Barry smiled. Everyone had a price and he always respected those that named theirs upfront. He pulled his money clip from his coat jacket and presented it to her, allowing her to choose the service and price. “I see ya, daddy,” she said as she counted out the hundred-dollar bills until she reached two thousand. She tucked the ball of cash into the strap of her heels then fell to her feet before him.

Not once did Barry speak. He just leaned back and let her go to work. A moan hummed in his throat as she bobbed on his length. She barely got into a decent rhythm when the curtain suddenly flew open. Afraid she had been caught, Candy instantly stopped and, out of instinct, crossed her arms over her chest. But it wasn’t her boss or a bouncer. It was…a stranger. Some burly man, whose voice had so much bass it vibrated through her. “Allen,” he said.

Candy turned her attention to Barry. “Rodgers.”

“I don’t do threesomes,” Candy informed the men. She was uncertain of what game these men were playing; but if they tried anything, she’d have a bouncer here in no time flat.

“Hold it, honey. I’m not here for you,” Rodgers said without looking at her.

“I’m busy,” Allen interjected. “Continue,” he said to Candy. He placed his hand on her head and guided her back to him. She resumed her previous actions. “It can wait,” he spoke to Rodgers again.

“Don’t think so. You’re gonna wanna call this one in.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a red card with a number scribbled in black marker.

“Nah. I’m out for now. Heat’s too high.”

“Not too high for this. Trust me.”

Barry finally took the card. He tapped the edges as he considered it. Taking this job would mean going above ground early. The heat was still too high. Doing this would be dangerous. Not to mention stupid. But, if Rodgers was right, and the reward outweighed the risk, then, perhaps, it would be worth the shot. “And this is legit?”

“This work’s never legit, Daddy.” That was Rodgers’s attempt at a joke.

Barry acknowledged it but didn’t smile or laugh. He only nodded. After another moment’s consideration, he finally replied: “Okay. If I like what he’s got, cut’s the same.”

“C’mon, man. For this one? At least 70/30.”

“I’m sorry, Rodgers, but what exactly do you think you do to earn thirty percent of my work?”

“Now don’t give me that shit, boy. I’m the one who hipped you to the game, baby. If it weren’t for me, you’d still be trying to make those fucking Rogues work.”

“Watch your mouth.” It wasn’t a threat. Barry signaled Candy with his eyes. They were still in mixed company and Rodgers was getting into specifics. “Listen,” Barry continued, his voice shaking. Candy was working him so well, it was getting hard to maintain the conversation. “If I do this, I’m taking all the risk. It’s _my_ freedom on the line. _My_ life. And you? You’ll slink back into the shadows with your little pens and cards until it’s time to find the next fucker to do a job for you. It stays at twenty.”

“Fine,” Rodgers relented, the displeasure seething in his tone. “80/20.” Now he looked at Candy then back at Barry. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Allen.”

The second Rodgers closed the curtain, Barry held onto Candy’s head and emptied himself down her throat. She swallowed it, then rose to her feet. “You got a condom?” she asked. He did. Tucked away in his jacket pocket next to his money. He removed it, unwrapped and slipped it on, then she straddled him again.

There was no need for a conversation. This isn’t love. This was a transaction. She didn’t have to flirt with him or even kiss him. She just had to make her hips move in that enticing way that made patrons toss their mortgage payment at her.

But Barry’s attention had been drawn to that little red card in his hand. He had not noticed the way she bent back, her hands on his knees, as she worked her hips. And he had barely registered the way she clenched around him. Neither did he notice the way she called him “Daddy” as she pleaded for him to fuck her. Candy gave her best performance, but it took a back seat to the risk he held in his hand. Those ten digits could change so much. Depending on what the job was, of course. But if Rodgers had brought it to him, then it must’ve been _something_. He knew Barry was underground and would be out of commission indefinitely. Outside of a welfare check—which was more about Rodgers keeping his roster of criminals-for-hire up than about actual concern—the two men had practically ceased all communication. Therefore, if the man went out of his way to hunt Barry down, then it could have been major.

Barry had to admit the thought intrigued him. He was great at hiding, yes. But without a distraction, without a side hustle at least, he was…bored. The last time he “went underground” he hadn’t. He just faded into the background. Hid behind Paris. Stacked his money, learned all he could, and then moved on. Next, he met Eobard Thawne and learned the wonders of science and how to bend it to his intellect. He studied and grew into one of the biggest threats in the city, if not the state. But his current self-imposed exile made him anxious. An anxious Barry was a reckless Barry.

Sure, he could have left Central City. Travelled the world. But if he couldn’t do something like poison the Queen or steal the Eiffel Tower or the Pyramids, then what even was the point? Vacations were for middle-class, all-American families living in the suburbs with their something-point-five children, and a dog. That was not him. He was the little shit that kicked a hornet’s nest then sat back as chaos ensued.

Candy wrapped an arm around his neck; the other hand was planted firmly on the wall behind them. Her moans fell from her lips in excited pants as she bounced on him. Barry’s eyes were still on the card. In his hand was that proverbial hornet’s nest, waiting to be agitated. He should kick it. For old time’s sake. No, for boredom’s sake. Wouldn’t that be fun? While the police were looking left, busy keeping his playgrounds on lock, he could be to the right, stirring up the dust and the shit that came with it.

Barry was excited now. The very thought of the adventure awaiting him did more to arouse him than this poor girl atop him did.

He flipped her onto the couch. The quick action surprised her. “Finally, you’re awake!” she said. Barry paid no mind to her commentary. Instead, he reentered her and fucked her hard and fast. When her exclamations got too loud, he covered them with his hand. He buried his face in her neck to silence his own. He continued driving into her hard until he reached his climax. He grunted, spilled himself into the condom, then rolled off her. “Well,” Candy said as they both readjusted their clothes, “that was fun.”

He laughed quietly as he removed the condom, tied the end, and tossed it in a disposable bin for cigarette butts. He wouldn’t exactly call what transpired fun. It was more a diversion from the mundanity his life’s become. Something to while away the time. Candy plucked the wad of cash from her heels and recounted it, assuring that no bills had fallen out. When he was satisfied with the count, she rose and headed for the exit. “Thanks for ride, gorgeous.” She pulled back the curtain, but Barry grabbed her wrist to halt her. “Mother—” He reached into his pocket to retrieve his money clip again. Candy rolled her eyes. “Look, dude, there’s no round two on this.”

“No,” he corrected her calmly as he pulled out another five hundred dollars. “This is about the conversation from earlier. You didn’t see anything. You didn’t hear anything. And I was never here, understand?” His tone was polite but it carried a warning. One that told her this pretty, baby-faced bastard was not someone to cross.

“Yeah,” she answered. “I understand.”

\--------

Barry waited until the morning to call the number. It ringed once and then picked up.

“Chemist?” a voice asked on the other line.

“Yes?”

“The Big Belly Burger on 49th and Hall. Tomorrow. 9 a.m. Come alone.”

Before Barry could respond the line went dead. He debated redialing it, but he knew better. No one would answer. Chances are that phone was already destroyed. He jotted the location and time on a piece of paper then walked into the kitchen. He lit the stove then read and reread the information. Once it was committed to memory, he burned it. The red card Rodgers gave him was next. He watched as the fire ate the evidence. Barry couldn’t help but smile. By this time tomorrow, The Chemist would be reawakened, and Central City would never be the same again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, guys! I hope yall enjoyed this! Sorry no Cisco or Iris in this chapter. I really wanted to put them in the first one but this chapter was getting rather long so I'm going to save them for later. Don't worry, I won't do my babies wrong. 
> 
> Anyway thanks for reading!


	2. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barry meets his would-be employer and his ambitious (and dangerous) plan.

Barry stood across the street from the designated meeting spot, hidden in the shadowed alley between two buildings, eating the last of his greasy meal. It was nearing nine o’clock and he had already scarfed down a double cheese patty from the Big Belly Burger near his apartment. He sipped the last of his soda then discarded the remnants of the meal in the bin next to him. He glanced the hour on his watch. 8:56. Almost time to meet his would-be employer.

He liked to scope out the areas beforehand; make sure that everything was on the up and up. The police didn’t know how to get in contact with him for his services. Rodgers was good at keeping his business on the low. But often, persons who paid for his work were of high interest. Which meant they were on the cop’s radar. Which, in turn, meant that just associating with them alone could put Barry away for at least a decade.

He learned from others’ mistakes. When Rodgers first approached him years ago, he had a man working for him who was supposedly “the best of the best”. This man took a job from some criminal organization who was suspected in a recent gangland murder. On the very date they were set to meet, police busted in, though no one was arrested. Instead, a bloody shootout ensued. The man, the gang leader, and many others were dead. It was as sloppy as it was tragic. Barry never had an easy life, but he loved it. And he planned on living it for a very long time. So, he did what he always did: watched, studied, evolved.

This morning’s observation left him intrigued. This place was busy. Too busy. He loved Big Belly Burger as much as the next person, but absolutely _no one_ ate their breakfast. It was rare to see one without a drive-thru have so many customers this time of day. Their breakfasts were so bad that there was a notorious campaign decades ago for the chain to start their lunch menu earlier. It was why Barry had a full meal instead of their normal offered fare. So why was this place packed? Who in their right mind would make the journey to this part of town on a Wednesday to wait in line for a burger?

That was another thing. This location, while not the worst part of the city, was often neglected. A few years back, some members of a beautification society petitioned to have this area dedicated as a historical landmark but the numbers weren’t in their favor. Businesses that did well here were old stalwarts. Companies that had been here since Central City was still a small town of ten thousand. Besides them, the old Riverend Theater, and a few museums and galleries, there was nothing of great importance. Whoever decided to open one of the largest fast food chains in this area of the city was either desperate, foolish, or some sad combination of both.

All this left Barry to surmise that this place was a front. It was the only logical reasoning. He had been studying the location for over half an hour; and in that time, he noticed, though the place was packed, there wasn’t a lot of foot traffic. Which meant that the patrons didn’t walk here on a whim. They weren’t out shopping in the deadest part of the city and stopped in for a quick bite. They parked and then just stayed as if they were waiting for something. Or someone. Not him. But the person Barry was to meet. Someone important.

Also, there weren’t any visible guards out front or hidden in any areas surrounding the building. Barry checked. That was…bold. Or stupid. Or worse, overly confident. Whomever ran this place must’ve been secure in the cover to not have protection. Or so inexperienced that the need of it never occurred. Either reasons caused Barry great trepidation. Cockiness was akin to laziness and laziness was next to sloppiness. And sloppiness got people killed. Novices always over extended themselves by trying on boots too sizes too big. They were eager to take their respect, often in the most foolish of ways. This always kept the heat high and their enemies alert; and this, too, always ended in death.

Barry checked the time again. 8:59. Whatever he was going to do, he had less than a minute to decide. He could let the hour pass and slink back into the shadows. Back into the boredom that pervaded his life. Never knowing what adventures or dangers awaited him.

Or…

He could sate that gnawing curiosity within. Who was this person? What did they want of him? Whatever it was had to be dire to risk pulling him from obscurity. Barry’s assistance in whatever scheme they hatched would draw the attention of every police precinct within a fifty-mile radius. Contacting him was dangerous. It was bold. It was foolish. But they were either so desperate or certain in his skill to pay out the ass for his services. Barry hadn’t seen the exact amount, but it had to have been high. Otherwise Rodgers would’ve passed on the offer.

It was now nine on the dot. The time for debate was over.

“Fuck it,” Barry whispered, resigned in his decision. He emerged from the shadows, looked both ways—one final reassurance that he had not missed a police officer or vehicle, then headed across the street.

The life inside the building halted when he opened the door. The smell of greasy patties sizzling on the grill wafted through the air. Except for a small child in the back obliviously snacking on a chicken tender meal, no one else ate. Upon seeing Barry, the older woman with the child whispered something in Spanish then grabbed his hand as she rose to her feet. The child resisted her, refusing to tear himself away from his meal and toys. But she knew that something was about to go down. Something neither of them could be witness to. She pulled him from their booth causing the kid to cry out: “¡No, abuelita! ¡Mis juguetes! ¡Quiero jugar con mis juguetes!” The woman lifted the squirming child into her arms. Barry could still hear him pleading as they hurried out the back door.

The moment they were gone, a couple of men approached him. One was a few inches shorter than him but must’ve been at least seventy-five pounds heavier. He placed his hands on the holstered gun sitting on his hip. Ah, so this place _did_ have guards. The other man was a couple inches taller than Barry and about the same build. He too had a visible weapon on him, but, unlike his peer, didn’t reach for it. Instead, he stood with his arms folded across his broad chest, staring Barry down. “Yeah?” he asked gruffly.

“I’m your nine o’clock.”

The guard acknowledged Barry’s comment with a nod then turned to his partner and instructed: “Search him.”

Barry lifted both arms without protest. He was used to this procedure. The second guard patted him down. He found his money clip and a couple of condoms in his left jacket pocket and a standard .22 caliber handgun on the holster at his hip. He handed it to the other guard who promptly removed the clip and the bullet in the chamber before tucking the empty weapon in his belt. The second guard continued searching Barry. He worked his way down now. He spent a little too much time at Barry’s groin than he would’ve liked then proceeded to find the knife secured to his ankle. That too went into the other guard’s custody.

“Clear,” the second guard said. They parted allowing Barry to finally pass. “Third table.”

“You’ll get these back later,” the first guard said as he lifted Barry’s knife. Barry nodded that he understood then continued to the empty spot at the table awaiting him.

The seat in front of him was already occupied by what looked to be a kid. The man sitting before him barely seemed old enough to drink. But Barry knew better than to underestimate him. He lost count of the number of lives he stole that foolishly mistook his own youthful appearance as a mark of innocence. This man could be very dangerous.

His black hair was pulled back in a messy braid. He wore a thin gold chain around his neck and a single ring on each hand. Nice but not gaudy. Just like the chain around Barry’s neck. He thought extravagant jewelry was too much for people in his line of business. It called too much attention. That was one thing he butted heads with Paris over. The man loved his bling. Large diamond encrusted pendants, necklaces, and watches. Flashy designer clothes. If it screamed “wealth” Paris adorned his body with it. Sure, Barry understood the like of fine jewelry, but he found beauty in simplicity.

Aside from the mass of guards, everything about the man before him seemed simple. Rather, he lacked the trivial and ostentatious displays to which Barry had become accustomed. Every person that he had worked with had this vulgar need to be seen. Paris drowned himself in riches. Thawne, though not fond of jewelry, threw lavish parties after nearly every successful job. He also bragged to every willing ear about how he outsmarted authorities. It was at one of these parties that the police finally arrested him. Barry laughed at the irony before dipping out a back door.

But this guy now? With the sweet baby face and luscious curls? He already stood miles ahead of Paris and Thawne. He obviously had nothing to prove. “Please sit,” the man finally said. Barry obeyed. “Chemist. Or do you prefer Mr. Allen?”

“Barry is fine.”

“Barry. My name is Francisco Ramon.”

Before he could stop himself, Barry let out an excited gasp. This man was legend. He orchestrated the killing of an entire crime family and was never charged. He was nothing short of an icon. In fifty years’ time, movies will be made about him. He made the Corleone’s look like a bunch of amateurs. Rodgers was right. This _was_ worth the risk. “Mr. Ramon, forgive me for gushing, but I am a huge fan of your work. The O’Mally job alone!”

“I had nothing to do with that. And if I did, they never found the proof,” Cisco joked.

Barry, not being able to control himself, laughed at the remark. “Of course, sir.”

“Enough small talk. Let’s get down to business.” Barry immediately perked up, readjusting himself upright in his chair. Odd. He hadn’t even realized he had relaxed. It was not in his nature. Especially not during moments like these. Getting too comfortable was unwise. You had to be on your guard at all times. Things could turn from civil to deadly in a heartbeat. “I’m a fan of yours too, Mr. Allen. Or, Barry was it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Barry, I’ll be frank. The job I need you for will be dangerous. I recognize you’re out of commission but you’re the only person who can do this.”

“What do you need, Mr. Ramon?”

“I need you to help me break into Iron Heights.”

“Excuse me?” Barry’s voiced pitched up an octave. Of all the possible scenarios he could’ve created for this icon to need his assistance on, this was not one of them. “No offense, sir, but… you’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“I am not.”

“Iron Heights?”

“Yes,” Cisco answered. His tone steady. Calm.

“The most heavily guarded prison in the state? Perhaps the country?”

“Yes,” the man repeated with that same patient timbre.

Barry studied him anew. There was no amusement on his features. No slight hitch in the corner of his lips to suggest he was testing him. No arched brow begging for a light or humorous response. His eyes fixated on Barry’s. They bore through him with such conviction and intensity that Barry had no option but to squirm uneasy beneath them.

The myths surrounding Francisco Ramon were vast and contradictory. Some say he was a kid genius who went mad under the sheer weight of his intellect. Some say his assault on Central City was due to revenge. Though those specifics vary as well. They range from the death of a parent or loved one to a betrayal of a friend or colleague. Others say he was kidnapped as a child and experimented on giving him extraordinary abilities to see through time and space which, somehow, always kept him ahead of the police. (That was Barry’s favorite. If for no other reason than the sheer absurdity of it.) Rarely was anyone allowed close enough to decipher the truth.

But sitting here now, a mere few feet from The Francisco Ramon and his audacious plan, Barry was certain the man was insane. And he wanted no part of it. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ramon, but I don’t think I can be of service to you.”

Cisco cocked his head to one side. “But you haven’t heard my full proposal yet.”

“You want me to help you break into Iron Heights. What more do I need to hear?”

“I see. I gotta admit, I’m a little disappointed. Of all the things I’ve heard about the Chemist, none of them mentioned he was a coward.”

For the second time that day, Barry laughed. One of the lessons Paris taught him was to never let others rile you. Barry was a quiet kid, yes, but he was also quick to anger. It was one of the unfortunate traits he shared with his father. Half of the fights he got into in foster care was due to not being able to let trivial comments slide. Every insult deserved a retaliation. No matter how slight. So Paris sat him down one day. “Happiness, anger, sadness. Keep them under lock, boy,” he had said. “It fucks with the enemy, mentally. Let them say they shit. Let ‘em talk. But you keep it here,” he pointed at Barry’s chest. “Tight. That way… they’ll never see it coming when you fuck ‘em up.” Barry absorbed it so deeply it became his mantra.

Therefore, being called a coward didn’t faze him. Hell, it barely registered as an offense. He simply rose to his feet and retorted, “And I suppose the rumors about you are true, Mr. Ramon. You are as crazy as you are deadly.”

That caught the attention of Cisco’s men. Their hands instinctively, loyally, went to their respective weapons. Barry was accustomed to the fragile egos of men like Mr. Ramon. Men who had amassed great wealth and power yet still flinched at the tiniest infraction. Who had armies of well equipped men ready and willing to rid their bosses of little annoyances like him. It would be an asinine reason to die. Riddled with bullets because this man’s feelings were hurt.

Thankfully, Cisco raised a hand, silently telling his men to stand down. Then he did something unexpected. He laughed.

It was so loud it reverberated off the walls. It was boisterous and warm. Like he had literally just heard the funniest goddamn joke. It was infectious. It spread through his men, weakening a few until they joined in. Likewise, Barry could feel himself, once again, giving in. He could not put his finger on it, but there was something about this man. Something he found compelling. And not just because of the myths surrounding his reputation. No, there was something…more. Something that made him break his hardened demeanor and smile.

Francisco Ramon could very well be a lunatic. A mad genius intent on destroying the city. But goddamn if he wasn’t interesting. Barry retook his seat. “I like you, Mr. Allen.”

“Barry,” he gently reminded. He had no idea why it mattered to him that Mr. Ramon addressed him informally. But it did.

“Barry,” Cisco repeated. “Your skills put you on my radar. And I am not afraid to say I need you and your talents. Now, I understand your hesitation. Believe me. If anyone had asked me to come outta hiding—especially now—with that sonabitch Singh so far up my ass, and asked me to do the impossible, I’d think they were crazy too. But I assure you, this plan will work.” Barry sighed heavily. He opened his mouth to protest but Cisco cut him short with his index. “And when it’s done, you’ll be one of the richest men on the East Coast. Hell, I’ll even give you this city, if you want it.”

That caught Barry’s ear. He’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about it. Every man wanted to be king. To sit atop the world. He’d also be lying if he said he didn’t think he deserved it. After all that happened—the ugly, hard bullshit he sloughed through—this was his rightful due. “How would we do it?”

Cisco smiled brightly. “I need you to concoct something…nasty.”

“I’m not sure that would be the way to go.”

“No?”

“No. We don’t want to kill the officers. That’ll make things too hot to ever live down. We need to incapacitate them.” Cisco watched in awe as Barry’s eyes darted about. His mind deep in thought, already creating a myriad of formulas. “I think I can make something strong but not deadly. Maybe it can knock them out for an hour or so. Depending on what you have planned.”

“A rescue.”

“You’re freeing someone?”

“My brother.” His voice was soft now. It took Barry this long to realize he had this man all wrong. Yes, he had power. The evidence was literally surrounding him. The restaurant, the guards, the lore that proceeded him. But stripped of all that, at his very core, he was a man that missed his brother.

Barry empathized. He was an only child; therefore, his mother poured all her adoration and love into him. Every day she made his life a little less insufferable. Then he witnessed his father murder her. And just like that, he was alone. He would give anything to have just an hour with her again. Yes, Barry understood the risk Mr. Ramon was taking well. “Do you know which block he’s in?”

“G. It’s on the fourth floor toward the back of the building.”

“Fourth floor. That’s a helluva lotta guards to get through. I can probably get you in on the first but after that…” He shook his head at the improbability of the mission being successful.

“After that, shit’s gonna hit the fan. I’m not gonna lie, Barry. It’s gonna be real ugly. We’ll have about ninety seconds after you release the gas before the guards on the back half of the first floor are alerted. Then the prison will be on lockdown.”

Barry exhaled a shaky breath as he rubbed his chin. This plan was bad. Very, very bad. Someone was going to get killed. “A minute and a half… Four floors…,” Barry mumbled to himself. “Do you know how many guards per floor?” he asked aloud.

“One at check in. Two stationed at security points on each floor. At least four on patrol per floor, two per block. Then there’s the warden. He’s on the first floor half way between the cafeteria and the first security checkpoint. Oh, and the weapons cache is next door to his office.”

Cisco spoke with such coolness and certainty it agitated Barry’s already frayed nerves. How could he be so calm when he was sitting on the world’s worst plan? Iron Heights had six floors, filled with guards at every corner, and Mr. Ramon expected him to just waltz in there with a chemical weapon? And then what? Just walk back out? Unscathed? Ridiculous!

He sympathized with Ramon’s pain regarding his brother. Really he did. But surely there had to be a better way. This plan was akin to spitting in Death’s face and daring him to do something about it. “Sir…”

“You’re unsure again, aren’t you?” Cisco asked.

Barry nodded. “Look, even if I can create something to help you, you would need additional help. Like…”

“Like a few guards on the inside?”

The response caught him off guard. “So you _have_ thought this through.”

Cisco nodded. “From the moment they sentenced him. Five years, six months, three weeks and fours days of nonstop planning.” He leaned forward, planted his elbows on the table, and clasped his hands together. He hit Barry with that intense stare of his. That uneasiness grew in the pit of his stomach again; but instead of looking away, he leaned into it, allowing himself to get pulled in. This time Barry noticed the rich, soft brown of his eyes. They were—dare he say?—beautiful.

“Trust me when I say, I’ve thought of everything. We have at least three guards on our side.” Again Barry tried to speak his uncertainty but Cisco cut him off. “I know. It’s not a lot. But these men will be a big help to us. They know all the layouts, security codes, shift changes. I just need you to agree to do what I need you to do. So what do you say?”

Barry’s mind ran amuck with scenarios of how this would play out. Absolutely none of them ended with him living. Cisco did a lot of big talk, gave a lot of promises, but in the end they would all be empty if this thing failed. “I say…”

“Wait.” Cisco reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen. He pulled a napkin from the holder and scribbled something on it. “Before you tell me no, take a look at this.” He folded the paper and slid it toward Barry.

Barry opened it and, upon seeing the large number inside, mouthed, “Holy shit…”

“That’s double what I promised Rodgers. You’ll get half now. You’ll get the remainder, plus a lab and a place to stay, both of which you can keep, after you’re done. When I said I’ll give you this city I meant it. I’ve held it in the palms of my hand for too long. And if I can be honest with you? I really don’t give a shit about it. I just want my brother back.” The sadness in his voice caused Barry to finally look up from the paper. There was a sincerity to him that Barry found fascinating. “Think about it, friend. One job. One last job. And you can be filthy fucking rich with this entire city as your playground. You’ll never have to work for someone like me ever again.” Cisco rose from his seat and outstretched his hand. “So, what do you say?”

Barry pondered another moment. He relooked at the paper in his hand. That’s a lot of zeros. This plan was dangerous, that’s a given. But it was also exciting. And, god knows, he needed that. He needed to get out of that ratty ass apartment of his. More importantly, he needed to do something _bad_. His body ached for mischief. He could never stay hidden for too long. And a job like this would be the perfect reason to bring The Chemist back out to play. Singh had all his haunts on lock, daring him to so much as flinch. What better way to say “fuck you” than to bring the pain to his backyard?

Besides, even if, no, _when_ this plan failed, he would already be long gone. He was an expert at evading arrest, after all. Even better, if he agreed to accept this offer, he wouldn’t be reneging on his promise. He volunteered his intellect and his skills, not his weapons or his might. He could provide them the formula, teach them how to dispel it, then he’d be a free agent.

Sure, he retained some hesitations and reservations. Those would no doubt nag at him until the job was finished. But the benefits spoke louder than his doubts now. The excitement, the ability to stick it to Singh, and, yeah, that fucking pay out. Just a fourth of that alone would be enough to set him up for a long time.

Barry rose to meet Cisco. He shook his hand and said, “I’m in.”

“Excellent!” Cisco exclaimed with a clap of his hands. He turned to a guard. “Darius, bring him the money.” The man picked up a black duffle bag and slammed it onto the table. “That’s your first payment.” Barry opened the bag and gave a tiny, reserved smile at the stacks of bills. “It’s nice, right?”

Barry picked up a stack and flipped the edges. “Fucking beautiful.”

“My men will take you to your new place today. I’m sure you’re eager to move out of whatever shithole you’ve been holed up in. Give them a list of things you need for your lab, and they’ll have it set up by this time tomorrow.”

Barry wasn’t expecting things to start moving right away. He should have known. Cisco seemed eager—desperate even—to set his plan in motion. “I need to get my things from my apartment.”

“Of course. My men are at your disposal. Anything you need from them, just ask. Within reason.”

Barry nodded his thanks then zipped his bag of money up. A guard placed a hand on Cisco’s shoulder then whispered in his ear. Barry watched closely, trying to determine if the conversation involved him in any way. There were no pure friendships or alliances in this line of work. Allegiances followed the highest bidder. Enemies were born every minute. Barry had to prepare himself for the threat of this deal turning sour. Though, if it did, he was straight fucked. Cisco’s men still had his weapons. “Shit!” he thought as he tried to determine a potential exit strategy.

“Okay. Thanks,” Cisco said to his guard. He turned to Barry, “If you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting with another client that might be a great help to us on this.” He dismissed himself with nothing more than a bob of his head then disappeared out the back door with two of his men.

Barry turned to face the remaining group. If something were about to go down there were too many of them to fight. The original guard he spoke to stepped forward. Barry’s body tensed as the man reached behind his back. His mind alight with a multitude of defenses and escape routes. None of them were favorable. The guard pulled out a gun. Barry’s gun. He handed it to him butt first, followed by the clip, then his knife. He stepped aside and said, “After you.”

Barry inched toward the exit cautiously, but his fears were unfounded. They weren’t going to harm him. Instead they obeyed their boss’s command and assisted Barry with whatever he needed. His first task was returning to his apartment to retrieve his possessions. He didn’t take much. Just some shirts, a few pair of pants, some underwear, a pair of shoes, and toiletries. All that fit within one suitcase. That’s the trick he learned from spending the last sixteen years on the wrong side of the law: pack light. Safe houses were only safe until they weren’t. Whenever one was compromised, you had to get out with the essentials. Or risk imprisonment while trying to pack every memory and sentiment away.

There was no attachment to this building. It was just a place. A building that housed him for a while. He never painted or decorated. Only the essentials: a couch, a dining table and chair, a bed. Things that were needed to survive. This was never his home. It was more a hotel. And now he was ready to check out and move on.

But first this place had to burn.

He turned on the aisles on the kitchen stove. Then shut and sealed the windows room by room so the gas could concentrate. Next, he pulled an old candle and a book of matches down from a kitchen cabinet and set it at the apartment entrance. Finally, he struck the match and was pleased that it lit on the first try. He lit the candle then quickly ran back to the awaiting vehicle filled with Mr. Ramon’s henchmen. “Drive!” Barry ordered, a leg still dangled out the door. The driver obeyed taking them only half a block forward before a large explosion sounded behind them. Barry looked back to see the building in flames. The street slowly flooded with onlookers all shocked, curious, and appalled at the sight.

Barry watched for a moment longer as the car continued forward until the image dwindled into nothing. Then he returned his vision ahead. He rested his chin on his palm as he reflected on the morning’s events. Instead of lingering on his doubts, he focused on the burgeoning excitement of being in a lab again. He never called himself a scientist, though he appreciated the field greatly. Perhaps he could have been one in another life. He quickly shifted his thoughts. He hated dwelling on the what ifs and maybes. They made him sad. They made him angry. They were useless. He couldn’t change anything regardless of how badly he wanted to.

What he _could_ do, however, was focus on the now and the promise of a future. When he did, he could only see Cisco’s face. It wasn’t strange considering he was the current key impetus that would drive the next few weeks of his life. What _was_ peculiar, though, was that his thoughts weren’t particularly concerned about the job he had just been hired for. Instead they centered on how big and expressive Cisco’s brown eyes were. How Barry could still hear the ghost of his laugh. How he could still feel it move throughout his body, enticing him in a way he couldn’t describe. Even now, just the memory alone, dared him to smile. He refused. He had shown enough weakness for one day. But his body acted instinctively. One side of his mouth was already well on its way into a half-smile. Fighting was futile. Still he couldn’t give in. Rather, he couldn’t be _seen_ doing so. Barry discreetly moved his hand over his mouth and, secure in the cover it provided, smiled warmly.

He permitted himself this one vice. If only for a moment. Just until he got to his new temporary residence and had an effective distraction in his new job. Barry leaned against the window, closed his eyes, and drifted away on thoughts of Francisco Ramon.


	3. Double Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cisco calls in a secret weapon to help with his mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! A couple things: 
> 
> 1) I am so sorry for this being late. I wanted to be finished with this fic by now but work got in the way, then writer's block. So yall know how that shit go. 
> 
> 2) Whoo, chile, the length! If yall hadn't noticed I put a chapter number up. Now this fic might be less than that number, it might be more (if only slightly) but I don't want to write another long, drawn out fic. And in order to avoid that, some chapters are gonna have to be a bit on the wordy side. So feel free to take your time getting through this. It might keep you going until I can post the next chapter in another four months (I kid! I kid! .... Maybe....) 
> 
> Anyway, I hope yall enjoy!

Iris laughed loudly as her long dark brown hair whipped across her face. She tried to tuck it behind her ear but the winds from the high speed of the car prevented her. Behind her, police sirens blared loudly, demanding her little brother pull over. Wally sat stern faced behind the wheel; his focus locked on the road ahead of him. He weaved through traffic skillfully outrunning the police. Cars swerved to avoid him, causing more obstacles for the cops. Vehicles piled behind them. A sea of honking horns nearly drowned out the sirens.

Iris undid her seatbelt then turned to see the damage. Vehicles veered about the highway trying futilely to avoid one another. One police car managed to make it out of the commotion. “We got a hot one!”

“On it!” Wally slammed on the gas, further increasing his speed.

“Shit! He’s still on us!” Iris wobbled as she reached into the back seat.

“Careful, sis!”

“I got it!” she reassured him as she pulled out a gun.

Wally saw the weapon out the corner of his eye. “Iris! What the fuck? Don’t shoot them! That’ll make this worse!”

“Chill, lil nigga,” Iris said as she retook her seat. She attached a scope to the gun. “I’m just gonna put some distance between us.”

“Iris…” Wally pulled the bottom of her shirt then quickly returned his grip on the wheel.

Iris shouldered the large gun then peered out the scope. The officer in the car eyes widened at the sight of it. He called in to the dispatch: “One of the subjects has a weapon! I repeat: one of the subjects has a weapon!”

“Iris! Don’t! I can lose them!” Wally shouted as he bobbed between two large vans.

The quick movement unsettled Iris, causing her to jerk to the side. “Wally! This thing’s loaded!”

Wally’s palms sweated. He had been in this situation with his sister numerous times. But each of those moments were in the heat of action. When they were running after a job. When the attention was provoked. Now? Well, they had been laying low for a little over a year. Their last heist kept them comfortable, but funds were getting low. They received offers from various crime syndicates looking for an outside marksmen or driver to run a few “errands.” But none of them piqued their interest. None were good enough to make them come out of hiding.

Until their good friend Rodgers tracked them down.

“I’m telling you, West. This can be good for all of us,” he said as he took a sip of piping hot tea Wally offered him. He sat on the couch in their apartment in New York. Miles away from their home state. From anyone that could recognize them. Yet Rodgers found them with ease. He was good at keeping track of his associates. There was no rock anyone could hide under, no fortress too secret that he didn’t know about.

“Every time you say that, what you really mean is it’s good for you. Because whether we live or die, you’ll get your cut,” Iris corrected. She stood arms crossed, refusing to lower her guard around the man. She didn’t fear him. He was bigger and stronger, yes, but she was tough. Her right hook knocked out men his size with little effort. If he so much as looked at her or Wally wrong, she’d have him kissing the floor before he knew what hit him. Literally. Not to mention, she stayed strapped. He’d be a fool to try anything knowing that she was always within reach of a gun.

“Iris… C’mon… You’re like a daughter to me.”

“You’re barely a decade older than me, dude.”

He chuckled and took another sip of his drink. Then he rose and handed a red card to her. She refused it. “Listen. Trust your old friend Rodgers, okay? This is worth it.”

“That’s what you said the last three times,” Wally said upon reentering the room. He had been hiding out in the kitchen eavesdropping on the conversation. “And every time, she says the same thing. We’re out. For good.”

Rodgers cut his eyes at Wally. He disliked this kid so much. The little shit thought he knew every fucking thing. He picked up his empty cup and handed to the young man. “Hey, kid. Instead of offering your two cents, why don’t you go refill this? And let the grown-ups talk for a while.”

Iris placed a hand on Rodgers chest. A warning. “Don’t talk to him like that.” Her tone was hard. He had crossed the line. “Wally and I make our decisions together. You know this. So if you wanna walk out of this apartment alive, I suggest you change your tone.”

Rodgers didn’t scare easily. You had to have nerve and resolve to work with cutthroats like he did. Yet there was something in Iris’s eyes. Something dark. Something that dared him to push her. It caused him to quickly change his tone. “Apologies,” he said more so to Iris than Wally. “Just… call him and hear what he has to say, yeah? And once you realize how big this is, the cuts the same. Sixty-forty.”

Iris chuckled at Rodgers’ audacity. A sixty-forty split? Still? No way. Before she could voice her displeasure at the price, Wally spoke up. “Eighty-twenty.” Apparently, he was on the same page as her.

“What?” Rodgers asked, his voice dripping with disdain. He caught his tone and corrected himself. “Why the change?” This is the second time one of his associates tried to shortchange him. And he did not like it.

“Well for one, you’ve been fucking us with no lube for the last five years,” Iris answered. “So I think we’re entitled to a pay raise.”

Rodgers opened his mouth to protest but Wally cut him off: “Two, we’re obviously in more danger here than you will ever be. If shit goes down, me and Iris will be hauled off to jail, and your ass will be out here looking for the next recruit. I think an 80/20 split is fair enough.”

“Yeah. We could go 90/10,” Iris added.

“You know what? We could actually just take the entire payout.”

“Now, wait a goddamn minute!” Rodgers was steaming. It was one thing to haggle percentages. Though he hated it, it was expected. But this! No one had ever demanded the full cut. “Why would I give you full pay?”

“Please don’t feign dumb, Rodgers,” Iris replied. “You may be a lot of things: immoral, vicious, greedy. But you are not dumb. You’ve been here a good thirty minutes now begging like a dog for us to take this job. Our first no should have been good enough.”

“But you need us,” Wally said.

“He does, doesn’t he? Yeah, I’m a damn good shot, but I’m pretty sure you have other decent gunmen on your roster. And drivers come a dime a dozen. Which means that the only reason you’re still here, after we repeatedly told you no, is—”

“Because someone asked for us by name. And I bet they’re willing to pay out the ass for us too, yeah, sis?”

“I think you’re right, bruh. Which also means we got you by the balls, dude.” Rodgers’s nostrils flared. He jaws tensed. He was pissed. A tiny smirk curled on Iris’s lips in response. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. So here’s what’s gonna happen.” She walked to a nearby table, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a gun. Panic set in Rodgers at sight of the weapon. “Don’t let this little ol’ thing scare you, hon. It’s just a precaution. In case I was wrong, ya know? In case you really are dumb enough to not follow any of my instructions.”

“You want the full payout,” Rodgers said. There was a slight quiver in his voice. No matter how tough he tried to seem, Iris knew he was terrified.

She nodded in response. “Hand Wally the card.” Rodgers did as he was commanded. Wally thanked him as he took it and placed it in his back pocket. “Now here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna get the fuck out of our apartment. You’re gonna hop on a plane, train, bus, whatever-the-fuck got you here, and go back home. Then Wally and I will decide whether to call this number. And if we land on yes, you will get nothing. Not a penny or even a ‘thank you’ text. And in turn for being merciful, I think, yeah?” Wally agreed with a quick bow of his head. “Yeah, in turn, you won’t send any of your little goons after us for anything you think you’re owed. But, Rodgers, if I see anyone that I so much as _think_ works for you,” she cocked the gun and held it to his temple, “I will end your shit. You get me?”

He was full on quaking now. There was no pretense, no bravado, nothing to hide behind. This was full fear. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I get you.”

“Good!” She removed the gun from his temple. “Now get the fuck out.” Rodgers tried to regain his composure, but his limbs still trembled. He opened the door but before he could exit Iris called out: “Wait! You still owe my brother an apology.”

“What?”

“For being an asshole earlier. Oh, you thought I didn’t catch that?” She lifted the weapon again. Rodgers hands shot up on instinct. “Go on. Say you’re sorry.”

“I-I-I’m sorry,” Rodgers said to Wally.

“For?” Iris goaded.

This woman was crazy. “Um, for, uh…f-for being an asshole,” the man stuttered out.

“Good boy. Now you can go.” The man all but ran out the apartment. Once he exited, the siblings debated calling the number. If they did, this would mean sacrificing any peace they managed to eke out in this corner of the world. It wasn’t perfect, it would never be “home”, but it kept them safe. Even if everyone was against them, this place was their own little haven. Calling that number would set a ticking time bomb to all of that.

Blowing up their lives now would be foolish. They understood this. It was the first and recurring point in their discussion. But there was another equally important factor they couldn’t ignore: they were broke.

Going legit was a topic they often visited. In theory, it was as simple as walking into some building and filling out an application. In practice, it was much more complicated. For starters, they couldn’t use their real names. Iris was a felon with an impressive rap sheet. They would call the police at just the sight of her. Wally would fare better due to his crimes being commuted to probation. But could he just walk back into his old life? Sure, he could apply at some tech company, but what would he say about the large gap between his last job and now? “I left to assist my sister on her crime spree”? That outcome wouldn’t be favorable either.

They could get fake aliases. New IDs, passports, social security numbers. They could be whomever they wanted. They could completely start anew. Unfortunately, starting over wasn’t free. It cost a grip to reinvent yourself. They needed money to make money. It was a Catch-22.

Then there was the elephant in the room. The big factor neither of them dared to say aloud: they liked being on the wrong side of the law. Who would’ve thought the bright children of a cop would grow to be criminals? Certainly not Joe West. He all but hammered his moral code into them. Right and wrong was as simple as black and white.

Even Iris hadn’t pictured her life being as it is now. Twenty years ago, if someone had told her that she’d be a gun-for-hire and, more importantly, enjoy it, she would’ve laughed at the impossibility. Iris West was a good girl. She ate her vegetables, had a strong moral core, got good grades, and stayed out of trouble. She was the kind of girl that teachers gushed about, men compared other women to, and friends compared themselves to. She was the apple of her father’s eye, the pride of her mother, and an inspiration to her little brother. A stunning girl who could’ve gotten through life on her looks alone but had the intellect, personality, and depth of character that belied any supposed superficiality. She was close to perfect as anyone could be, and it exhausted her. She spent years being Joe and Francine’s daughter, Wally’s sister, Linda Park’s best friend, someone’s girlfriend or lover. She lost sight of herself. Who was she really?

Her moral code had always been tied to her family. Don’t do this or that because Joe and Francine West said so. For years, she followed their rules, played the role they set out for her. Her parents loved her, she knew this, but they never really knew _her_. They placed her on a pedestal. Used her successes as bragging rights for their friends. Every day she suffocated under the ideal Iris her parents adored. The pressure nearly drove her insane. Sometimes she would lie in bed hating their Iris West. She wanted to cut that Iris out of her.

Stealing was the only way she could regain some control over her life. She began shoplifting at fifteen. It started small with a tube of lip balm from the dollar store. She had the money for it. It cost less than a dollar. But there was a desire within her. A need so deep it survived being strangled out by the countless expectations placed on her. It longed to be fed. It told her to ignore the cameras and the cashiers and the five bucks sitting in her pocket and just take it. So she did. And the rush that filled her body was indescribable. Every time she rubbed that balm across her lips the thrill returned.

However, with time, the excitement lessened. Then guilt would set in. Remind her that this was not who her parents raised. She’s a good girl and good girls don’t steal. With that came the remorse then the resolve to do better, be better. All that would last about a week. When the irritating pressure to be her parents’ Iris West would be too much, that persistent desire within her would say: “Take what you want. Fuck the rules.” And she did. Some more lip balm, a tube of lipstick, a pair of earrings, a CD, a shirt, a dress. Anything she could get her hands on. Then the cycle would continue. The guilt, the remorse, the relapse. It went on like this for a year until she realized, it wasn’t her conscious that condemned her. It was her parents. _Their_ morality. _Their_ disappointment.

She resolved to snuff it out. It would be years before she could push the nagging sound away. But practice makes perfect. Besides the shoplifting, Linda’s older brother bought them fake IDs which they used to get into clubs. Then there was the underage drinking, smoking whatever shit that would get them the highest. She jumped in the beds of guys because she was young and beautiful and, well, because she could. Soon that niggling cry, the persistent voice of her father pleading for her to “behave”, went from a roar to a whisper.

Being bad was intoxicating. The quick rush that ran through her whenever she broke a rule or law was only matched when she held a gun.

From the moment his wife informed him their first child would be a girl, Joe West fretted over all the ways the world was dangerous for a woman. He had been a cop for five years by then and had seen too many female victims of violence. Battered, raped, kidnapped, tortured, mutilated. The list went on and on. Even though they instilled their faith and morality into her, he knew that wouldn’t be enough. She would have to protect herself.

The Wests were known for their mean right hook. His father was a boxing legend who taught the art of throwing and taking a punch to his sons. Joe had used it plenty of times in his old neighborhood. Too many fools wanted to try the youngest son of Elijah “Sugarfoot” West; and every time Joe left them bleeding and regretting it. As soon as his baby girl was old enough to walk, Joe put her in boxing gloves.

At first, Francine fought against it. She understood and respected her husband’s reasoning, but she worried for her daughter. But Joe insisted. Besides she was a tough little girl. Resilient. Every time she got knocked down, she’d cry (of course), then get back up, fist raised, ready for another round.

It was obvious she was a fighter. Maybe too much so. When neighborhood parents complained about the bruises and broken noses she issued their children, Joe had to explain to her the difference between self-defense and vengeance. “Baby, just because you _can_ beat somebody’s ass, don’t mean you _should,_ ” he said. “At the end of the day, you never want to be a bully. Remember, we fight for three reasons: to protect ourselves, to protect our family, and to defend those who can’t defend themselves.”

It was a point he reiterated when he put a gun in her hands at the tender age of ten: “Guns are not a toy. If you own one, they’re a responsibility. Always aim to do no harm. Try reasoning with the person instead. But…if you can’t, and you’re in danger, _genuine_ _danger_ , then you need to know how to use one of these.” Francine was livid at the thought of her child wielding a weapon. She hated guns full stop. It was years before she even allowed Joe to bring his police issued caliber into the house. Even that came with restrictions. It had to be unloaded and locked away far from their children’s reach. Despite Joe obeying these limits, it did nothing to soothe her worried mind. Especially since Iris, like with seemingly all other things she attempted, took to the weapon with great ease.

Adjusting to the weight of a fully loaded gun was difficult for the child. And it would be years before her aim was perfected. But the power…  The power enticed her from the moment she felt the kick of her first shot.

Iris was too young to understand the chills that flowed through her as she took shot after shot. Her father assumed it was nervousness of having such a powerful weapon in her hands. But it was rare to see her on edge.  She took to challenges with great aplomb. If she failed at something, she attacked it until she mastered it. No, it wasn’t nerves that made her young body quiver. It was excitement. It’s the feeling one gets when they find a passion that would become a lifelong companion.

That enthusiasm is what made her beg her father to take her shooting nearly every weekend. It’s what made her practice with pea shooters and go hunting with her grandfather until her aim improved. Joe didn’t see the lust that grew in her eyes. He didn’t see that this wasn’t just another skill that she would become an expert in, then drop the second boredom crept in, like she had with piano and ballet. He hadn’t noticed it was something more to her. Something necessary. Something akin to breathing or water and food.

But Francine did. She saw that her little girl was perhaps _too_ good. That she took to it a little _too_ well. It terrified her. She forbade her husband from taking Iris to the range again. “Franny, we did an excellent job raising her,” he said in hopes of comforting his wife. “She’s a smart, responsible, capable young woman. We have to have faith in ourselves and her. We have to trust that she’ll always do what’s right.”

It was a belief they would grow to regret.

When they first heard news of Iris’s attempted robbery of a museum in Keystone, they were shocked. Disbelief and confusion left them sitting mouths agape. When they learned that a guard was shot and wounded in the fray, Joe refused to accept it. And when they were informed that Wally joined in his sister’s misdeeds, acting as the getaway driver, Francine burst with anger.

“I knew it!” she cried as she furiously pounded against Joe’s chest. “I knew nothing good would come out of you teaching her such things! Now look! Our daughter’s a criminal, Joseph! And she’s dragged our son, my sweet baby boy, down with her!”

Wally was not Iris. He was the second born and a male, so their expectations for him were more reasonable. There was no Wally West persona to live up to. (Parents rarely ever pressure their sons like they do their daughters.) Though, the Wests did instill the same morals in him as they did Iris. But they gave him more leeway, more room to breathe. His mistakes were forgiven. His flaws, accepted.

Joe taught him how to box. Not because it was a skill he needed to know, but because it was tradition. He told him how he learned from his father who had learned from his father and so on. For them, it was bonding. A way to spend time with his only son. Neither did he force him to learn to shoot. In fact, when the kid discovered his ineptness at even loading the weapon correctly, and begged to quit, Joe allowed it—an option Iris was never given.

Wally was not his parents. He idolized his big sister. Not because of who she was supposed to be, but because he knew the real her. He was the one who found the stash of purloined goodies hidden away in her closet. And when she begged him not to rat her out, he kept silent. He knew she snuck out, so he kept his bedroom window unlocked so she could climb the trellis and slink back in without setting off the alarm. He lied to their parents for her. Ensured that her image remained intact.

All this he did without stipulations, compacts, or promises from her. He did it out of loyalty and love. That’s why they were so close. He was the only person with whom she could be her authentic self. And when he found himself on the wrong side of the law—and their parents’ wrath—at sixteen, she defended him. Gave him a place to stay until they calmed down.

But she reprimanded him as well. Rebellion was not for him. There were no suffocating requirements he had to live up or down. No restraints or restrictions. He had nothing to prove. Not to their parents or himself or her. Wally agreed and promised her that he would do better.

That was until he got busted some years later for drag racing. He wanted to test a protype for a newer, more efficient propulsion engine system. Sure, he could have tested it in the lab at his job, but Wally had a secret: he loved racing.

It started as a hobby. His friend Curtis’s dad was a mechanic and a big fan of NASCAR. He taught Wally everything he knew about cars. Even had him working on a few as a part-time job in his teens. Wally got so good that he could take apart an engine with his eyes closed.

Curtis’s father knew about some drag racing circles in the city. He warned him to stay away from them. They were dangerous and deadly and illegal. But teens rarely listen. So, on a whim, the duo headed down to watch a race. Wally fell in love instantly. He went to as many races as he could. Curtis knew some of the drivers and introduced Wally to them. And he, being an ever-eager sponge for knowledge, asked them so many questions. And when sitting on the sidelines was no longer enough, he longed to be behind the wheel.

Anyone could race. If you had money for the entrance fee, a car, and knew how to keep your goddamn mouth shut, you were in. Wally could use the money from his allowance and job, and he was an expert at keeping secrets. The only problem was finding a car. Luckily, Curtis knew the code to his father’s shop and offered any of the old, unused vehicles there. The duo worked on their car in secret after work for weeks. Curtis provided any additional parts needed. Wally never knew where they came from, and when he once asked, his friend only stated that he “borrowed” them. Which was all Wally needed to know.

When the night of their first race came, the duo pulled up with a pocket of $500 in cash and a supped-up Camaro. Wally was excited and nervous. It was one thing to talk about racing, and another to actually do it. Yet he refused to let his anxieties dissuade him. When the starting flag waved, he inhaled and exhaled shaky breaths, pressed his foot to the pedal, and took off.

That first race was a disaster. His car had the speed, but his virgin hands didn’t have the confidence to handle the vast curves of the course. It was either the grace of God or sheer dumb luck that kept him alive. He placed fifth. Which was impressive but didn’t award him any funds. What it did earn him, though, was the support of the veteran racers. They applauded his work on the car and his nascent skills. He had earned their respect and a nickname: Whiplash.

It didn’t take him long to become a big name in the streets. He went from the underdog who could barely turn a corner without skidding out to top dog. The hot shit you bet your money on. The young faced pretty boy who made racing his bitch in three cities.

But he always remembered his promise to Iris. He tried his best to stay out of trouble. To not become another kid splattered across the pavement or locked behind bars due to a race. Majority of every pot he won went to a savings account. It would help pay for whatever his college scholarship wouldn’t provide. When he did go to university, he buckled down. Focused on his coursework and grades. And limited racing to a couple weekends a month, if at all.

Despite this, Wally didn’t find his calling on the criminal path. He liked being an engineer; and he liked racing. But once his license was revoked, he had to give it up. Drag racing was the only crime he was ever interested in committing. So with that gone, he was resigned to remain on the straight and narrow.

But one night, while visiting his sister, he overheard her and Linda talking. Linda’s grandmother had recently passed and a long-lost heirloom of hers resurfaced. Unfortunately, it was found in the possession of some white man in Star City. How it got there, no Park knew, but he refused to return it. Instead he sold it to a museum in Keystone. Iris, enraged at the audacity, vowed to get it back. “No,” Wally said, entering the room and surprising the pair, “ _we’ll_ get it back.”

Iris tried to dissuade her brother, but he insisted. Wherever she went, he would follow. Besides, Linda was like family. And the Wests always protected their family.

The trio worked out a plan. They would each visit the museum separately and record the number of cameras and guards per shift. They noted when the building opened and closed and how long, hypothetically, it would take for the police to arrive if anyone attempted to rob the building. “Less than two minutes,” the guide proudly told them. Wally would provide the getaway, Iris would burglarize the place, and Linda would provide the alibis and hideout.

The plan was perfect. Except the group was hilariously inept. For starters, they didn’t know that the glass encasing Linda’s stolen inheritance was bulletproof. Neither did they know that the night guards were armed. As far as they could tell, the day guards never carried more than a walkie and a pair of cuffs. When Iris let off her first shot at the glass, she was surprised to find it only left a dent. She was equally surprised to hear the alarm sounded immediately and not when she took the item, like she hoped. Time was running out. So she said fuck It, broke the latch on the case with the butt of her gun, and snatched the item.

She had less than a minute now before the cops would be at the museum. She was fast but there was no way she could make it out of the building in than that time. (It was also in this moment she realized they never came up with a backup escape plan.) She made it to the main hall, only to be stopped by two guards, pointing very impressive pistols at her. She begged them to let her go. Said she didn’t want to have to fight. She just wanted what she came for and to leave. They laughed at her. Told her to drop the bag and put her hands up or they would shoot. She refused. Their fingers moved to their triggers; so did hers.

Meanwhile Wally sat outside in a van he borrowed from Curtis for the job. He heard the alarm sound way too early. “Shit,” he said low. The two minutes started quicker than he wanted. “C’mon, Iris. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” The time winded down and still no sign of his sister. He was stumped on what to do. He wouldn’t leave her, that’s for certain. He wanted to run inside and get her but what good would that do? The floor plan was like a maze. It would waste more time just locating the section the Park’s heirloom was housed in. Then there was the issue of handling the guards. Iris took her gun as a deterrent. If a guard wanted to play hero, she’d whip it out and surely disabuse them of the notion. What would Wally do? Flail his arms about or play chicken? No. Waiting in the car was the only wise option. Even if it exacerbated his worried mind.

He heard loud pops coming from the building. It was unmistakable: gunshots. Wally’s pulse quickened. Was that Iris shooting at the guards? Or had the police already arrived and entered through some backdoor and caught his sister off guard? He wished he had a gun of his own. For what reason, he didn’t know. What would he even do with one? He was useless when it came to guns. He couldn’t hit a target if it was arm’s length away. But he had to do _something_. Anything! His sister was inside, possibly injured or worse, and here he sat fretting over his next steps.

He resolved to go in. But before he could turn the van off, Iris appeared. Running at full speed shouting, “Go! Go! Go!” He pushed open the passenger door and was already in motion before Iris dived in. The cops arrived as they were pulling off. A chase ensued.

Wally called Curtis for assistance. After all, the van was registered to his father and the cops, no doubt, had the plate already. “You gotta get outta town, dude! Go to Gotham. I got a cousin there. I’ll let him know to expect you. You and Iris can hide out there for a bit. But you gotta lose the van. Don’t matter where. My dad will report it stolen in the morning. There’s a back road out by the boondocks in Haverford. Barely any light. You can probably lose the cops down there, but, bruh, the roads are hard to navigate. Especially in the dark.”

“I got it,” Wally said.

This was game time.

A few months ago, he raced against Big Red, a practical icon of drag racing. They battled for a 100k pot, the title, and each other’s cars. Red challenged Wally multiple times; and each time Wally declined. He was good, but he knew his limits. He knew Red was faster but also played dirty. He would run Wally off the road if it meant he would win. But the challenges were nonstop. So much so that he couldn’t even visit a race as a spectator without hearing about it. Still he refused. He wouldn’t be so easily goaded. He loved racing but he loved life even more. But Red was determined.

He found out where Wally worked. He appeared at his job one day, making a scene, demanding Whiplash come out to see him. Wally sped down the stairs and forced the man outside. Red demanded his race. Threatened to show up every goddamn day until Wally stopped being a pussy. Left without a choice, Wally conceded. But if he was going to race, then he sure as shit was going to win.

He stole the prototype he and his co-workers slaved over. It still needed to be properly tested and what better way than on the streets against the biggest asshole he’d ever met? The night of the race, Wally found himself surprisingly calm. He was neither nervous nor afraid. Not even a smirking Big Red could get to him. When he sat behind the wheel, revved the engine, and took off after the waved flag, nothing but pure adrenaline filled him. He cared nothing about the riches awaiting him if he won; or about wiping that fucking smile off his enemy’s face. In that moment, it was just him, his car, and that overpowering exhilaration that surged through his very core.

It was the same feeling that spurred him down a darkened back road of Central City. The cops sat on his tail, sirens blaring, orders to pull over spewing out their loudspeakers. Next to him, Iris laughed. She was perhaps even more excited than he. Wally’s eyes fixated on the path lightened by his headlights. He searched for curves, turns, anything that could help or hinder them. He came upon a turn in the road that lead to a forested area. If he was quick, he could turn off it without being seen. Wally scoffed. _If._ He _was_ quick. He had whooped Big Red’s ass with barely a sweat. What more could he do to these cops? He hit the gas, increasing his speed. Then, once he was certain he had distance between them, turned off into the forest, shut off the van, and waited. It was quiet. That was a good thing. It meant they had put proper distance between them and the police. Another moment’s silence. Then… One, two, three police vehicles zoomed past. The siblings fell over in laughter.

They made it to Gotham. They hid the car in some parking lot outside a store then walked to the nearest bus station. From there they took the subway to Curtis’s cousin’s apartment. They hid out there for about a week while the heat died down. In the interim, Iris mailed Linda her grandmother’s possessions with a card that simply read: “For you.”

When they finally returned to Central City, they stayed with Linda and reassessed their failures. “We need to be smarter next time,” Iris said.

Next time? They had survived by the skin of their teeth and his sister was already planning their next heist! Wally should’ve been outraged. Or at the very least infuriated. But the thrill of that chase! The rush of it! It was better than sex. He needed to be behind a wheel, going a hundred at least, like he needed the air in his lungs. More importantly, Iris needed a partner.

Linda would never get her hands explicitly dirty. She wouldn’t mask up and rob some place or sit behind the wheel. But she would do what she originally planned: be their alibi, give them a place to hide; and if the police asked questions, she’d lead them down the wrong paths. Likewise, Curtis had become their go-to for transportation. After his father’s death, he inherited the shop. Anything they wanted was at their disposal. And any vehicles brought to them would either be painted and given a new license or chopped up and its parts displaced throughout the city. But that was as far as either would go. Rather as far as the West siblings would allow.

No one would be murdered or arrested for their crimes. They never forced Linda or Curtis to assist them. They helped out of loyalty and friendship. And for their risk, the siblings paid them richly from whatever payout they received.

Their biggest concern was their parents. When they originally heard of their children’s crimes, the Wests protected them out of genuine disbelief. Iris and Wally were good kids who made a terrible mistake! But that excuse weakened as their transgressions grew. Soon they couldn’t open their door without a uniform knocking, questioning their children’s whereabouts.

And as time progressed, Joe found room for a little grey in his staunch black-and-white morality. When the police asked if he had seen his children recently, Joe said he had not. A truth. Iris and Wally never visited anymore. (It was better that way; in case the authorities were watching.) When asked if they spoke to them, Joe said he had zero contact whatsoever. He even offered up his phone records as proof. But this was a cover. Because Iris would mail him burner phones that they communicated through for about a month or so before she instructed him on how to properly destroy it. It couldn’t just be thrown a way. It had to be broken, the SIM card microwaved, then tossed out at various locations. This he did every month like clockwork without question. In doing so, Joe realized an undeniable truth: as much as he respected the law, it meant shit when it came to his kids.

So he watched from the sidelines, hair graying with stress, as his children reveled in their misdeeds. Even though it ate at him. Even when it weakened his health.

There was nothing to be done. Iris and Wally approached every challenge with vigor and determination. Regardless if it was academics or a skill or, unfortunately, a life of crime. That’s how he raised them, after all.

Still Joe silently prayed they would amend their ways. It was futile, he knew, but hope is a bothersome thing. One that’s clung to dearly while drowning in despair. It’s what keeps us kicking, pushing ourselves about the crashing waves. But reality is equally persistent. Always creeping in, parading its ugly, incontrovertible truths about. Demanding us to address them. It’s for this reason Joe added an addendum to his prayers: that his children be kept safe and always protect one another.

That was doable. Every move they made, they did together. Like finally deciding to call the number on the card. Once they heard that voice on the other end, the voice of an old friend, they didn’t hesitate to agree to the job. That’s why they were speeding down the highway now with a determined cop on their ass.

They tried to sneak back into the state but were made by a do-gooder attendant in a gas station outside Star City. They were barely back on the highway before the first siren caught their attention. Soon one car turned to two, and two to five. Before the duo realized it, they were in a chase.

Wally skillfully maneuvered and lost most of them. Except for that one car. “Iris, don’t!” he pleaded as he dodged a van that pulled in front of him. The quick turn sent Iris falling backward.

“Steady, Wally, goddammit!” Iris peered out the scope attached to her gun. This shot had to be precise. She didn’t want to kill a cop. That drama was the very last thing they needed! Wally continued to beg his sister’s patience. He could evade them. He was certain of it. She just needed to give him time. “Be cool, nigga,” Iris said as she inhaled a deep, steady breath. “I got this.” She pulled the trigger. The bullet landed in the front left tire of the car. “Yes!” Iris cheered as the vehicle skidded about the road.

Wally breathed a sigh of relief as he took an exit to Gotham. He loved his sister, but she could get a little too…enthusiastic. A little too carried away. He’d often had to be the voice of reason during their missions. He was her conscious. Not in that annoying way their parents were. His expectations for her were reasonable; and he never demanded she be anything other than herself. No, he kept her from going too far to the other side. He asked her to use that brilliant brain before resorting to gunplay. This kept them out of jail and alive. Though, Iris could be a wild card. So resolute in her decision that no amount of pleading or discussion would hinder her actions. When that happened, Wally was there to pull her to the safety. Always.

They were a dream team. There was nothing they couldn’t do together. Which made them the top enemies of the state; as well as formidable assets to every criminal organization in the country.

When they exited the highway, Iris slunk back into her seat and disassembled her weapon. “We need to hide.” She pulled out her cell. “I’ll call Linda.”

“No,” Wally said as he parked under a bypass. “There’s a good chance the CCPD already got these plates. It’ll be hell getting to residential Central City without the pigs sniffing us out.”

“We gotta get rid of the car.”

Wally agreed with a nod. “I’ll call Curtis. He’ll know what to do.”

Curtis’s advice was to leave the vehicle at a gas station a mile from their location. He wouldn’t hook it up to his tow during the day. Too visible. As soon as night fell, though, he could pick it up, change out the tags and such if they still wanted to use it. “But I suggest y’all just let it go.”

“What’ll we do for transportation?”

“Hitchhike.”

Wally rolled his eyes at the idea. Hitchhike. In Gotham. They might as well put a sign that read “kill me please” on their backs. It was a terrible plan, sure, but it was also their only plan. So Wally travelled the back roads to the station. (That would help them avoid any hidden police since they often didn’t stake out them due to less traffic.) Luckily, the gas station was large enough to act as a rest stop, which meant they could park farther from the main building, thereby avoiding camera exposure. Unfortunately, it also meant there were potentially a lot more eyes on them. Any of the patrons could recognize them and their troubles could start anew. They had to be smart with their next steps.

“We’re not hitchhiking,” Iris said as she studied their environment. They parked next to a row of 18-wheelers. Even if the camera could see them, it wouldn’t be able to make out their faces or vehicle from the distance. The spot also offered them a decent view of the parking lot. From it they could see a couple of turn off entrances, one side of gas pumps, and make out some of the restaurant area inside. The station was mostly populated with truckers. Though there were an ample supply of travelers, but they rarely stayed longer than what was needed to pump and pay. Which meant that to get to Central City, they would need to depend on the kindness of truckers. A noble idea except they wouldn’t get far. A semi pulling down a residential is even more suspicious than rolling up in a car with marked plates.

“So what are we gonna do?” Wally asked with a sigh as he equally surveyed the land. “We can’t walk to Central City. Shit even if we could, I’m not walking through fucking Gotham.”

“I know that’s right,” Iris agreed.

“Why don’t we just call Cisco to have some of his guys pick us up? I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“Sure! And you can be the one to tell him about the cops tailing our asses. I’m sure he’ll just love being exposed too. Boy…”

“Okay, smart ass.” That elicited a chuckle from Iris. “What do you suggest we do?”

Iris only replied by pulling out her phone and dialing a number. It picked up on the second ring. “Hey, girl.”

“Hey, babe,” Linda answered cautiously.

Iris caught the unease in her tone. “Is something wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, honey, I’m doing good. How are you?”

“Shit!” Iris said as she caught the code wording of her friend. The endearing address were their way of signaling when something was amiss. “Is someone there with you?”

“Mm-hm. Sure is.” Linda’s tone was chipper. The sign of how good an actress she was. But Iris could parse the fear underneath.

“Is it the police or someone else?” The duo made a lot of enemies in their line of work. Not just with the cops. Sometimes even turning down a job offer could put you on the bad side of the worst criminals in the state. Rejection was not an option for them. If you had someone you loved, their lives would be put in danger until you gave into their demands. They were more terrifying than any law enforcement agency could ever dream of being.

“Yeah, honey, the first is fine.” That meant the first option: the police.

Iris breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank God.” She could handle them. She could outsmart them in her sleep. “Okay… I need you to listen to me very closely. Wally and I are outside Gotham. We got a job in Central City that you cannot know about. If shit hits the fan, you could be in danger. Pack a suitcase—only one! You want to be as inconspicuous as possible.  The very second you’re able to, go to your mother’s in Metropolis and stay low. Get a burner and call me from it so I’ll have your number. Stay there until this all blows over, got it?”

“Yeah,” Linda answered with a soft sigh. An actionable plan provided some comfort, but there were still miles to go until she was truly free. She knew this. Iris knew it too. The police hassling her best friend already was an inauspicious outcome—and they hadn’t started the job yet! Things could only worsen from there.

“What’s going on?” Wally asked.

“Cops are at Linda’s.”

“Shit!”

“That’s what I said. Okay. We need a new plan. We can’t hide out. If they know about Linda they might know about Curtis and Dad. I’m not too worried about Dad. He can take care of himself. But if they get to Curtis…”

“He’s going to jail. He doesn’t exactly run that shop on the up-and-up. And that’s not even counting the shit he helps us with!”

“I know! I know! Okay…” she paused to sort her racing thoughts. Everything was unraveling. The chase, Linda, all their options potentially being burned. Things literally could not get worse. “We’re fucked, baby brother.”

“I know. So what do we do?”

“We can’t go back to New York. We can’t stay here. We can’t go home. Linda is out of the question…and Dad was never an option. And Curtis… Call him back and warn him. Tell him he needs to shred papers or what-the-fuck-ever to clean his shit. Then he needs to leave. He’s not Linda, he’s got more connections than just us, so it’s probably best if he hides out of state. Maybe even the country.”

“And what about us? What do we do?”

“We do the job. We get out, we get paid. Then I guess we make our next steps from there.”

“Okay. But how do we get outta this goddamn station?”

“You see that truck over there?” Iris signaled to a green pickup parked in front of them.

“Yeah. What about it?”

“We’re gonna steal it. See that guy in the plaid shirt sitting in the restaurant?” Wally nodded. “It’s his. Now he just sat down, so we might have a good ten or fifteen minutes before he finishes scarfing down that burger. That gives us more than enough time to hotwire his shit and get inside the city. From there, we’ll park it in a crowded lot, and trade it out for another. We use that to get us to Central City. How’s that sound?”

“Well… it beats hitchhiking.”

\-------------------

Cisco sat at his desk. A copy of the Iron Heights floor plan laid before him. “Tilt your head down some more,” a soft voice behind him said. It belonged to a brown skinned, green eyed beauty named Rosalita, his brother’s girlfriend. She was currently in the middle of styling his long hair into a French braid. Cisco did as she asked. Rosalita’s returned to her work. She peered over Cisco’s shoulder as her her hands skillfully moved across his head. “Are you sure you have enough fire power?”

“Yes. I called in some back up to help. They should be here within a day or two.”

“And the white boy?”

Cisco chuckled at that. For some reason she refused to learn Barry’s name. “He’s still working. The last batch he tested didn’t last long enough. But I have faith in him.”

Rosalita scoffed. “You trust him?”

“I said I have _faith_ in him. He’s good at what he does. I have no doubt he’ll live up to his reputation.”

Rosalita rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she said with an annoy sigh. She resumed braiding his hair.  Another moment silently passed until the agitation—that annoying concern that ate at her—burned in her chest. She knew Cisco, and knew he would not be amused, but she had to speak. She spoke carefully, “I’m sorry, Cisco, but… I just think…,” another sigh, “I think this whole idea is stupid and dangerous,” her words rushed out. He didn’t look up from his work. Instead he responded with another light laugh before unrolling another set of blueprints of the prison. These were of the air vents. He laid it atop the current ones. “I just think,” she continued, “this is a lot shit to go through just for Dante.”

He looked at her now. He tilt his head to one side as he studied her. He marked the concern on her features. “Rosa, this plan will work,” he offered as reassurance. “No te preocupes. Todo estará bien, okay?”

“No!” she said with a shake of her head. “You can’t guarantee that! I mean, how do you know? How do you _actually_ know? It’s bad enough Dante’s rotting in that hell hole! I won’t let you risk your freedom, your _life_ to get him out!”

“Escúchame, I have been planning this for five years. I have exhausted every option. I’ve filled my crew with not only the strongest but the brightest. We’re smart and we’re tough and—”

“¡No seas estúpido, Cisco! This is a suicide mission! We both know it! And for what? To bail out Dante’s ass?” She was near screaming now. She was angry and scared and he was being foolish. She hated losing her cool. It made her nerves bad. Though, to be honest, they’ve been a bit frayed since Dante went away. They worsened when she found herself pregnant a month into his stint. Now all this shit with Cisco and his big plan! None of this was good for her health.

Despite all her screaming and visible agitation, Cisco remained calm. (That annoyed her even more.) “You’re angry,” his voice was soft, almost sweet. It reminded her of the sweet boy she first met all those years ago. “I get it. This is harder for you—and mi madre—than it probably is for me. But…” Rosalita rolled her eyes and turned away from him. She didn’t want to see him lie to her with whatever false promise or assurance he would conjure. “Dante needs to come home. That sentence was bullshit. We both know that. Twenty-five years? With hardly any evidence?” He laughed, quick and bitter. “They set him up then they locked him away. But see now I’m gonna fix it. I’m gonna get him out and I’m gonna bring him here, where he belongs. With you and your son.”

Rosalita shook her head as she exhaled a heavy sigh. She could feel a throbbing pain grow behind her eyes, so she shut them and rubbed the stress out with her thumb and index. Sometimes talking to the Ramon brothers was like talking to a wall. Except that she was certain, with time, she could get through to a wall. “You Ramons,” she said, her voice softer than before but the anger still present, “you’re smart… but you’re stupid as fuck.” She turned back to him. “Dante is in prison, not because the system was against him, but because _he… committed… crimes._ He kidnapped and tortured Mayor Hill. He killed…,” her voice quivered now. She wanted to cry but she sniffled, took a deep breath, and resisted. “He killed so… many… people. Then he would come home to me, covered in filth and sin.” Despite her best efforts, a tear fell from her eye. “And he would lie next to me and sleep like a goddamn baby… knowing what he did. And you say… him being in Iron Heights is-is-is wrong. It’s unfair. It’s bullshit. But it’s what he deserves!” A choking sob escaped her lips, but she quickly covered it with her hand. She took a deep breath in hopes of calming herself but to no avail. She was full on crying now. “I love Dante. You know I do,” she said between sobs, “but he made his choice. Let him live with it! Please!”

That was hard for her to say. Rosalita had loved Dante since they were teenagers. He was the first and only man she had ever been with. They had each other’s hearts and backs. She protected him, stuck her neck out for him. For better or worse, she was his ride or die. So standing here, in the middle of Cisco’s office at his compound, pleading for him to get this godawful plan out of his head, pained her to her core. She wasn’t just asking him to let it go, to not risk his life and freedom for his brother; she was also sacrificing her happiness. If Cisco would hear her, if he would do what she asked, then that meant spending the next two decades of her life as a prison wife. It meant a near hour drive both ways, multiple times a week just for a few minutes of face-to-face conversations. It meant their son, Angel, never really knowing his father. It meant conjugal visits being monitored by perverted guards who looked her up and down beforehand and tossed her salacious remarks afterward. It meant raising Angel and any subsequent children alone. Yes, she had Cisco and Mrs. Ramon, but they wouldn’t have to answer a curious child’s question about why their father is in prison. They wouldn’t have to suffer with the stress of looking into those precious big brown eyes and decide what truths or lies to tell to protect his innocence. Still she was willing to risk all of that if it meant that she could keep this family intact.  It was broken and imperfect, but it was hers. It was all she had. She just needed him to understand that.

Cisco did. He loved Rosalita like a sister. And if this had been any other favor, he would’ve given in. He would’ve called off the entire thing without a second thought. But this was Dante. His big brother. No matter how much Rosalita loved him, it didn’t trump the loyalty and devotion the brothers had to each other. This was blood, and the bond it held it was sacred.  So, no, he could not grant her request. “I have to help him,” he said.

The words hurt her. It angered her. Soon she was back to yelling between cries. “Goddammit! No, you don’t! Think of your mother, Cisco! If you get killed ‘cause of this stupid ass plan, think of what it’ll do to her!”

“Rosa, I sympathize but my mind is made up.”

“Then un-make it! Stop being a stubborn, stupid ¡pedazo de mierda!”

“¡Basta! ¡No quiero oír nada más!” Cisco slammed his fist on the table causing Rosalita to jump.

She had never seen him angry. She’d known him since she was fifteen, and in all that time, she hadn’t witnessed so much as a flared nostril. She had seen him smile but never cry or yell. Cisco wasn’t prone to lose his composure. He was never one to display his emotions so openly. His brother was the one who wore his on his sleeve. He had no poker face. Happiness, anger, sadness all sat visibly on his handsome features. No, Cisco was internal. Preferring to think first and react later. He refused to give anyone the luxury of thinking they could control or manipulate him. Even as anger stirred at his breast, his features and tone remained cool and collected. That is what, perhaps, made him more terrifying than his brother.

People always underestimated Francisco Ramon. They saw his short stature, young face, and long hair and mistook him for someone soft. Someone that could easily be pushed over and shaken. It didn’t help that Dante always fought his battles. Cisco never had to raise a fist unless he wanted. His big brother would be there to beat any wise ass who dared try him.

But Cisco was as tough as he was cunning. He was not afraid to get his hands dirty if needed. He knew how a broken nose felt under his fist. How easily a knife could slice into flesh like it was cutting butter. He’s broken bones and taken lives and all without so much as a smile or frown. That’s why this scowl he gave her now, mixed with that flush of red heat peeking underneath the brown of his cheeks, and the way his fists clenched so tightly into balls that she heard the knuckles pop surprised her. Hell, it frightened her.

As did the tone he now spoke to her in. It was too calm, but his words were pointed. Commanding. “There’s only one thing you need to understand, Rosa. I will _never_ leave my brother behind. And I don’t give a shit if you agree or not. I allowed you to say your peace but at the end of the day, _I_ run this. Not the cops… definitely not you. I, alone, make the decisions that food on your table, clothes on your back, this nice ass roof over you and your son’s head. All I need from you, is to keep your goddamn mouth shut and stay in your place.”

Rosalita pressed her lips together tightly at that. The shock that once rested on her face faded into disdain. She hated when he got like this. When he got so sure of himself that he spoke to her like she was one of his little goons. “Fine,” she said biting back anger. She stomped to the door. When she swung it open, there stood Barry with a locked case and a fist raised to knock. Upon seeing him Rosalita rolled her eyes in disgust. She didn’t hate Barry; she just didn’t trust him. There were rumors he betrayed his last partner—some Thawne guy—but no one knew for certain. But she didn’t need surety and confirmation. As far as she was concerned, a hint of disloyalty meant they shouldn’t fuck with Barry in any regards. And they should especially distrust him to make chemical weapons. But like Cisco said, he ran this shit. If he wanted to put all his eggs in this white boy’s basket, she had no choice but to let him. Still, though she was angry with him and hated this plan and despised the way he talked to her, she loved him. So, before she left, she faced him again and said, “I hope you don’t fucking die.” She pushed past Barry, nearly knocking him over, as she left.

“Did I interrupt something?” Barry asked as he stepped inside the room.

Cisco shrugged lightly and replied, “Family squabble. You got something for me?”

“I do!” Barry closed the door behind him then placed the case in his hand on the desk. “I think—nice hair!” Cisco smiled at the compliment. He thanked him as he lightly fingered the braid in his hair. Weird. He was so angry just a moment ago but now he was grinning wide and silly at a two-word compliment. Funny that. “I think,” Barry continued, “I finally found the perfect solution.”

“You think or you know?”

“I know. Tested it this afternoon on a couple of your guys. They’re still out.”

“Good!” Cisco said as he slapped his palms together. “How many you got ready?”

Barry opened the case to reveal the contents. “Ten. Which I think will cover us but if you want more, I’ll need more supplies.”

Cisco lifted one of the canisters to inspect it. “Whatever you want, you’ll have it,” he replied while rotating the canister around. Barry allowed himself a smile—just a tiny one—at the sight. He did good work and Cisco was obviously impressed.

“Thank you. Depending on when I get the extra supplies, I should have everything ready for your men in…a day. Maybe two.”

“My men?” Cisco questioned as he returned the canister to the case.

“Yeah. I’ve been looking at a couple of them. I think Rodrigo and Thomason would be the best candidates to lead the charge. They’re good with weapons and they’re fast which—”

“No, no no. I don’t want to leave anything to chance. I want you there.”

“What? No. Mr. Ramon, I only agreed to—”

“Rodrigo and Thomason will still be of use but you’re leading the charge.” Barry opened his mouth to once again protest but Cisco silenced him with a wave of his hand. “This isn’t a discussion.” He spoke with that commanding tone of his. “You will be there in Iron Heights with us. And that’s final.”

Barry wasn’t going to give up so easily. “Sir—” he started to counter but a knock at the door interrupted him.

“Come in!” Cisco ordered.

A guard opened the door. “Sir, we have a problem downstairs.”

“Then fix it.” God this was just not his day. He wished Dante was here. He was an excellent bullshit buffer. Cisco rarely had to manage emotions of family members and subordinates or settle petty squabbles when his brother was around. Dante was temperamental and sometimes brash, but he was great at delegating minor concerns.

“Well, sir, it’s some woman. She says she’s here for you.”

“I’ma need more specifics than that.”

“Well…she’s in a Mexican standoff with Rhodes and Velasquez.”

Cisco cocked a curious brow and went to his large windows that overlooked the driveway of the compound. He pulled open the blinds and when he saw the woman, he smiled brightly. He cracked open the window and called down to her. “Iris West! Long time, no see.”

Iris looked up at the voice calling her, returned the smile, and sweetly replied, “Hey, Cisco.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall got through alladat??? Wow. Yall some real G's. Respect.


	4. Gang Gang!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cisco, Barry, & Iris finally meet to hash out last minute plans. The undercover cop is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter. But, hey, at least this time something besides backstory is transpiring lmao.

Wally and Iris arrived in Central City without police detection. Iris’s plan to get them through Gotham worked like a charm. When they arrived in their hometown, they stole an inconspicuous little car and drove it all the way to the address Cisco provided. There were only a few men standing guard when they drove up. Cisco liked to keep it low-key. No doubt there would be more inside, waiting to surprise any fool that dared to penetrate the compound.

Iris hopped out the vehicle and surveyed the location. “Nice,” she said while taking in the overwhelming view of the land.

Wally removed their black duffle of weapons and slung the heavy bag over a shoulder with a grunt. “I dunno,” he said as he readjusted his frame to carry the excess weight, “I prefer the one in Metropolis.”

 “Ew. The one with that ugly ass fountain out front?”

“I liked it! It had class!”

Iris laughed. “Your tacky ass would.”

The home was large—at least three floors—with a long driveway that led up to the back of the house. The front yard was spacious. The area was well kept. From the smell of the grass floating in the breeze, Iris could tell it was recently cut. The hedges that led up to one of the entrances were freshly trimmed as well. To her left, was a garden filled with various colorful flowers. In the middle sat a gazebo. On the grass just outside was a puppy and small boy running about, blissfully unaware of the rest of the world. Inside sat Mrs. Ramon, Cisco’s mother, flipping the pages of a magazine. The woman briefly looked up. When she and Iris caught sight of one another, Iris politely waved. The older woman tsked and returned to her reading. The rudeness didn’t bother Iris. She wasn’t particularly concerned about being liked by the woman—or anyone outside her loved ones, for that matter. She didn’t come here to make friends, after all. She was here for a job.

“Mrs. Ramon seems especially friendly today,” Iris quipped to her brother.

“What?” Iris motioned to the woman with a tilt of her head. Wally looked in the direction she signaled. “Oh,” he said with a chuckle. “Do you think she’s more upset about our presence in general or… do you think she still remembers the last time we were here?” He shot her a mischievous, knowing smile.

Iris popped him on the shoulder. “Hey, that wasn’t on me. If she didn’t want to see her baby boy getting fucked, she should’ve knocked.” Wally groaned causing Iris to roar with laughter. “You brought it up, nigga.”

“Ugh. And I regret it. Can you just… can you _please_ not fuck him this time? Please!”

Iris laughed again. “I make no promises, babe.”

The duo began their ascent up the long driveway. They were halfway up when two guards approached, their weapons raised and ready. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“We’re here to see Mr. Ramon,” Wally answered. “We’re the Wests.”

“The Wests?” he questioned. His tone was hard, disbelieving. His finger moved to the trigger. He was itching for a fight.

Iris rolled her eyes. She always hated this part. The testosterone laden interrogation. Every guard, goon, henchman, what-have-you wanted to impress their boss. They wanted to move higher up in the ranks. The low-level thugs like the two before her were the easy targets. The sacrificial lambs that would die first if shit popped off. If you proved yourself, however, the boss would see your hard work and give you a cushy spot by his side. You’d get better pay, a nice room in the big house, and, if they really liked you, they’d put you in charge of your own side hustle. You could go from a nobody to a king.

But every syndicate is different. Cisco, for example, rarely let anyone close to him. It was only his brother. With him gone, Iris wondered who Cisco’s confidante was now. Who did he trust? He kept his family—his mother and nephew—close but they weren’t in the business, obviously. Did he have friends? Someone who’s loyalty wasn’t bought? He’d often address Iris and Wally as such, but they weren’t genuine friends. She knew his name, how to complete a job to his liking, and—on rare occasions—how to make him come. But the intimate details? The tragic backstory that turned him into The Mastermind, the hidden hurts that festered into his soul, the dark secrets that kept him up at night? She knew nothing. He was an enigma with a megawatt smile and a seemingly endless bank account. From what she could tell, that’s the way he liked it. He liked being unknown and untouchable.

That’s why she found the guards playing “Twenty Questions” with her and Wally sad. Pathetic. Even if they had, by some miracle, managed to impress Cisco, they would never stand beside him. They would never eat at his table, learn his secrets. They would never be more than what they were right now: two over-eager underlings forever playing tough with no hope or chance of a reward. She would pity them if she gave half a shit.

The guards radioed a superior who recognized the Wests name and gave them clearance to pass through. The rest of the drive was littered with men, all staring the siblings down with their hands on their various weapons. One in particular, an Alonso Harper, studied them closely. They looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place them. Where had he seen them? He continued to search his brain as he watched them walk toward the back entrance of the house. Here another set of guards stopped them at the doorway.

Iris rolled her eyes again and exhaled an annoyed sigh. They _just_ did this! “Let us through,” she demanded as she waved her hand, dismissing them out her way.

“Uh, we’re here for Mr. Ramon,” Wally quickly added. He hoped his softer tone would counter his sister’s harsher one. He was so tired and had no energy for the dramatics Iris’s contempt would create.

“Yeah, I know,” one of the guards said. His reply was to Wally, but his focus was solely on Iris. He walked towards her, leaving barely an inch between them. He towered over her. It was meant as an act of intimidation, but she remained unfazed, though her annoyance grew. He leered at her. A wicked smile crooked in the corner of his mouth as she stared at her full lips. A myriad of disgusting thoughts ran through his head. Iris’s face twisted in revulsion as if she could hear each one. He spied a peak of her cleavage causing his smirk to grow into a toothy, lascivious grin. “I’ma have to search you before you can go up. You know how it is.” He ran a finger across the neck of her shirt; Iris smacked it away.

“Yo, don’t touch her!” Wally shouted. He was no longer concerned with playing moderator. He stepped towards the man ready to fight but was immediately held off when the guard drew his gun and aimed it at him.

“You better step the fuck back, kid,” he threatened.

Iris was livid. She could handle anything done to her. She knew the ways of men—especially those in this line of work. They treated her like some fast-tailed bimbo, some dumb hoe that they could walk over. Every time, she would roll her eyes and take their abuse for as long as she needed. When that got too much, she corrected them. She put the fear of God, no, the fear of _her_ into them. She demanded that respect. But what she absolutely would not allow, not in the slightest, was someone disrespecting her brother. Getting fresh with her was one thing, sticking a gun in Wally’s face was another. This foolish guard hadn’t realized the sin he committed.

Iris surprised him with a strong punch to the gut. The man doubled over in pain and before he could react, she hit him with a right punch to the jaw. “You… bitch…” the man groaned. She raised a fist for another hit, but he caught it then re-aimed his weapon at her. Now it was Wally’s turn to join in. He slid the bag off his shoulder and knocked it into the man’s still sore gut. Iris then reached under the back of her shirt, pulled her own weapon, and proceeded to whack the guard across the brow with it.

The sight of the weapon caught the attention of the other men. As if on cue, they all raised their guns at her. “Iris!” Wally called out, but she didn’t need a warning. She heard the unmistakable sound of the weapons cocking. 

“You’re… surrounded… bitch,” the guard said between pants.

“I know,” she replied before pistol whipping him again. This time a large gash formed on the man’s face.

“Hey!” the second guard at the entrance shouted. “Lower your weapon or we’ll shoot!”

“Iris…” Wally cautioned. “Just do what he says.” Iris looked at her brother, then at the wounded guard before her, then at the one threatening her, then finally back to her brother. She smiled. Wally’s eyes widened with fear. She was up to something and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. She moved quickly. She grabbed the gun clipped to the injured guard’s waist with her free hand and pointed it at the man at her side. “Iris!”

“Hey! I mean it! Drop your weapon! Or I’ll—”

“You lower yours; I’ll lower mine,” Iris said. The man’s weapon remained locked on her. Iris chuckled. “That’s what I thought.” She returned her focus to the guard in front of her. The blood oozed from his cut down the side of his face. Her smile broadened at the sight. Without diverting her eyes, she spoke to the entire company: “Y’all must not know ‘bout me, so allow me to introduce myself: I’m Iris West, but they call me Deadshot. And do you know why?” The guard before her shook his head. Iris cocked her gun and pressed it to his temple. “Because I never fucking miss. This,” she signaled to Wally, “is my brother. And I don’t really give a smooth fuck what you do to me, but… you hurt him? And I guarantee you I will make the rest of your short lives a living hell. Now… lower your goddamn weapons unless you’re _aching_ to see if the rumors are true. If I’m really as good as they say.”

Wally’s heart beat rapidly in his chest. This was exactly what he didn’t want to happen! The men were not going to stand down; neither was Iris. She would fight until the last breath. Sometimes he feared his sister had a death wish. That or she thought herself invincible. Why wouldn’t she? Fate had been on her side for so long. All that good luck was bound to run out eventually.

Or maybe not. Because he heard a voice from above. Not God but a higher authority: Mr. Ramon. “Iris West!” Everyone’s attention turned to the smiling face overhead. Wally didn’t share his parents’ faith, but in this moment, he mentally said a prayer of gratitude. Thank God for Cisco Ramon. “Long time, no see.”

“Hey, Cisco,” Iris sweetly greeted.

“What’s going on?” Oh, that sense of humor! Cisco had a way of keeping it even in the worst of times. That was something they shared. The ability to laugh as they set the world ablaze.

“Oh, just… hanging out.”

“I see… And are my men giving you trouble?”

“Just a tad. Especially these two assholes,” she said referring to the two guards who incited the ordeal. “And this one,” she tapped the barrel of the gun against the head of the guard she attacked earlier, “pointed his gun at Wally.”

Cisco sucked in a breath. “Ooh. I see.” He understood the error the man made. He also understood how it could be corrected. “Everyone stand down!” he called to his men. They immediately obeyed and lowered their weapons. “No one is to lay a hand on the Wests or you’ll have to deal with me, understand?”

“Yes, sir!” they answered in unison.

“West, do what you must, then you and your brother come to my office.” He closed the window and dropped the blinds. Whatever happened next was not his concern.  

A second later, without hesitation or a moment’s consideration, Iris pulled the trigger, and blew the erring guard’s brains out. “Told you I never miss,” she quipped to the corpse.  

“Jesus,” Wally whispered to himself. He knew it was coming. From the moment the man pointed his weapon in his face, he was doomed. He knew his sister would not let such a transgression stand. Still it was a sight to see. Not just for him. The remaining men also flinched in surprise at the murder. They had witnessed countless death in their employ—many at their own hands—but this was different. If he had been shot defending the compound or while on mission, that would be an understandable lost. But this! There was no time given for repentance nor apology. Just quick, cold murder. One Mr. Ramon allowed.

 “Wally, keys,” Iris instructed before stepping over the lifeless body at her feet and entering the building. Wally removed the car keys from his pocket and handed it to the nearest guard.

“The car we came in’s stolen. Get rid of it.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard responded. Wally gave him a quick bob of his head as thanks. He picked up their armory filled bag then stepped around the corpse and followed Iris into the building. He had a bit more remorse at the incident than his sister. But only a little. Iris had warned them, after all. 

Wally hopped up the stairs and entered Cisco’s office. Iris had already made herself at home on the edge of his desk. She was laughing at something. Probably some little inside joke she and Cisco shared. Wally cleared his throat to get their attention.

“Wally!” Cisco greeted with a big smile. He rose from his chair and shook his hand. “I’d like you to meet my associate, Barry Allen.” He signaled to the couch where a skinny, white man sat. Wally hadn’t even noticed someone else was there.

“Hi. I’m Wally,” he greeted with a half-hearted wave as he tossed the heavy bag he shouldered to the floor. Barry responded with a nod.

“Barry is my right-hand man on this project. He’s helping me concoct something, well, not so nasty, but still a bit nice.”

“Ooh. I bet you’re disappointed. I know how you like things nasty,” Iris said with a devilish grin. Cisco returned it. He was quite amused.

“Normally I would be, darling.” Wally rolled his eyes. He was going to toss himself out that goddamn window if they didn’t stop flirting. “But,” Cisco continued, “Barry convinced me that wouldn’t guarantee the success of our mission.”

“And what exactly _is_ the mission?” Wally asked. “You were very vague about the details over the phone.”

“Yeah,” Iris chimed in. She was studying the information on Cisco’s desk. “I mean judging by these blueprints… You must have something major planned.” She shifted the papers, revealing the layout underneath. “Holy shit!” she said upon realizing what she was looking at. “This is for Iron Heights!”

“What?” Wally marched towards the desk and picked up the plans. “Cisco what the shit is this?”

“Are you trying to break into Iron Heights?” Iris asked with an incredulous laugh.  

Cisco opened his mouth to speak but Wally cut him off. “The most secured prison in the city!”

“Try in the state!” Iris responded. “You gon break into Iron Heights, my nigga?” she asked Cisco. “Yo!” She began cackling. “I knew you were crazy, but I didn’t know you were insane! Iron Heights?” She laughed again. “You might as well go jump in front of a firing squad. It’ll be the same diff!”

Cisco tired of this conversation. He lifted his hands to silence the siblings. “I understand your apprehension and I respect it… but I didn’t hire you for a second opinion. I hired you for your strength and your speed. You can save the commentary.” He retook his seat.

Iris rose to her feet. She crossed her arms and stared him down. “No, I think the commentary’s necessary.” Wally nervously watched the exchange. He couldn’t read Cisco’s face—the man was an expert at stoicism—so he wasn’t sure of his emotions. Was he annoyed at his sister’s defiance? Amused? She was closer to Cisco than he was, could she read him? Did she know how far to go before she stepped over the line? Maybe so because she continued: “This is a terrible idea! Terrible, dangerous, deadly… And if _I’m_ saying that, you know it’s gotta be true.” Wally studied the man’s face again. His lips held a soft smile. Okay. So he wasn’t upset. Maybe. Wally still couldn’t tell. “Look,” Iris sat on the desk again, this time on the edge closest to Cisco, “whatever shit you got cooking in that brilliant brain of yours… can you just let it marinate a little bit longer? ‘Cause I guaran-damn-tee you, whatever your reason for wanting to break—” she exhaled another airy chuckle; this really was the most asinine idea she’d ever heard, “break into Iron Heights—”

“Dante,” he simply said. He needed no other reasons or explanations. Iris wasn’t Barry. She knew him. She knew what his brother meant to him. She knew because she had that same devotion for Wally.

Iris looked back at her brother. He parted his lips as if to speak but sighed instead. “Shit,” she said. She couldn’t say no. Wally understood that too. That’s why he was giving her that look. That look of resigned frustration—jaw tensed; lips tight. This was perhaps the worst idea in history, but she would ask no less if Wally and Dante’s positions were reversed. “I forgot they transferred him there,” she said more to herself than the others.

Iris rose from the desk and walked to her brother. She took his hands in hers, looked into his eyes, and silently pleaded for his agreement. The stakes had change since their initial decision to return to their hometown. It was no longer about the money. It was literally life or death. But she needed for him to say it, with no equivocations, that he was with her. No was always an option. “It’s okay. I’m… I’m in,” Wally told her with a half-smile. It was meant to reassure her, but it was too…sad.

She gently held his face and caressed his cheek with her thumb. “You sure?”

“Yeah,” he answered; his voice was still soft and low. “I mean, we’re already here,” he added with a light laugh. This time she shot him a confident smile.

“Okay, baby. Okay.” She pinched his nose causing him to let out a genuine chuckle. Then she turned to Cisco. The time for sentimentality was over. “We’re back in. But this time I’ma need some assurances.”

“You want a bigger cut upfront? Done! I’ll call my accountant. He’ll have the money for you tonight.” He picked up his phone to dial the number, but Iris stopped him.

“I don’t care about the money. I want you to promise, that no matter what happens, Wally is safe. If shit goes down, I want you to look after him like you would Dante. He does not get hurt, he does not go to jail, none of that. We’re not trading one brother for another, you get me?”

“I got you. You have my word, West.”

“Good. Now let’s get down to business.”

\---------

Alonso watched as a couple guards carried the man Iris killed away. Another turned on the hose and sprayed his blood and brain matter off the pavement. And just like that—in the span of minutes—he was gone.

His name was Rhodes. That’s all Alonso knew. First name, unimportant. As were details of his life. Did he have a wife? Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Were there children who’d miss him? Hell, a dog perhaps? Where was he from? What school did he go to? What where his hobbies? He was a bodyguard to one of the biggest threats in the state, if not the country, but he was more than that. He was a man. A human. And Iris West ended his life without a thought.

He should be used to this. After a year serving Ramon, he had seen so much death that another should be insignificant. But you don’t get used to death. Not like this. Which is good because you’re not supposed to. Death, murder, violence is meant to sting. It’s meant to imprint on our souls. It’s meant to attach to us, forever haunting us like ghosts. That’s how we maintain our morality. Those feelings of shock and pain, disgust and anger that murder and violence provoke is how we know we’re still human. Those emotions matter because humanity matter. And the second you go numb to it, you’re damned.

He crossed himself and said a prayer. The day was almost done. Thank God. He couldn’t wait to get back to his shitty little apartment and wash the filth of this day away. Though he still had ways to go before he could truly rest. And that was thanks to one person: Iris West.

She said her name was Iris West. Also known as Deadshot. Alonso knew he’d seen her face before, but he couldn’t quite place it. Now he had a name. That name was worth more than all the money in the world. It meant freedom. It meant he could finally leave this hellscape. He could drop this Alonso Harper character and be himself again: Peter Washington. Detective Peter Washington, to be precise. Now he had the golden key that would unlock his cage. No more sucking up to Ramon. No more silencing his conscious as he engaged in unlawful and immoral acts. He could finally let this façade die. He could go home to his wife and daughters.

Dusk approached. His day finally ended. He caught a ride back to his apartment where he and a couple of Ramon’s men stayed. It wasn’t impressive. He didn’t need it to be. He just needed a place to lay his head, eat, shower and change. This little two-room shithole provided that. After his shower, he caught a cab downtown. Got out and took a stroll for another five blocks. There was a diner there named Ma’s. The service was terrible; the food, even worse. But he didn’t come here for the atmosphere or to eat. He was here to meet a man. His superior, Detective Evers.

He had texted him a message as soon as he got into the apartment. He requested a meeting. Speaking over the phone wasn’t safe. The walls were thin, and he didn’t know who was on Ramon’s payroll. Neither did he know if the place was bugged or not. He didn’t come this far, he didn’t risk his eternal salvation, just to throw it away in the end because he was sloppy.

They were scheduled to meet at 7:30. He arrived early so he saved a booth at the back of the restaurant. Far from the windows and prying eyes. He took the seat best to watch the entrance. If he spotted Evers, he could signal his location. He could also use it determine if he’d been followed; if so, he could duck quickly out the back. Luckily, he hadn’t. It was just him, a few patrons already mid-meal, and the passing time.

Evers arrived ten minutes late, overflowing with apologies. Something about his son being ill and the traffic. Washington wasn’t really listening. He wasn’t trying to be rude, but he wanted to get this over with. Not just the follow up. The entire ordeal. He witnessed a man murdered in cold blood today. His body carelessly discarded like trash. He needed to relay what he knew so he could go home.

“What do you have for me?” Evers finally asked.

“I think—”

“Can I get you something to drink?” the waitress asked with a kind smile.

“I’ll have a strawberry pop, please,” Evers ordered.

“Nothing for me,” Washington said barely biting back his annoyance. More distractions. More time being consumed.

"You sure, hon? We got a special going on tonight. You get all you can eat onion rings with any burger meal and free beer after eight."

"I don’t want your shitty food or your stale ass beer!” Washington blurted out surprising both Evers and the waitress. “I just want to be left the hell alone. Can you do that? Can you leave us for ten goddamn minutes?”

The waitress was so taken aback by his rude tone that she could hardly speak. She opened her mouth to attempt but only a meek squeak came out. “Please forgive my friend,” Evers said softly. “He didn’t mean it. He’s a little on edge. Just the pop will be fine. You can bring it whenever.” She was still shaken but managed a weak nod before walking away. When she did, the duo realized the restaurant was staring in their direction. So much for low-key. Evers gave them a half-smile and wave in hopes that his considerable civility would divert the attention elsewhere. It worked. For now. “Washington, I know you’re a bit…unnerved, but I need you to calm down. Just because this place is a safe space now, don’t mean it’ll stay that way. Remember: the plan is to go unnoticed.”

“Yeah,” Washington agreed as he rubbed his fingertips across his eyes. “Yeah. Sorry. I just… I had a terrible day, and, frankly, I’m ready to go home.”

“We can pull you out at any time, Washington. It’d be a shame to lose a year’s worth of work but… if it’s getting to you…”

“I saw a man die today.”

“Jesus Christ. In front of you?”

“Yeah. He was shot a point-blank range. I saw his fucking brain, Danny. And I don’t know what’s worse. Seeing that, knowing that Ramon just fucking… let it happen… or this… this constant nagging thought that he doesn’t really deserve my sympathy because he was a bad man. And I don’t mean that in, like, a general sense. Like, he’s bad for working for a piece of shit like Ramon. I mean… I literally saw him _do_ bad shit. Evil shit. He shot a kid’s kneecaps out, for god’s sake. And that… that was him being merciful. But still he was a man… and every man’s life matter. That’s, that’s what I’ve been taught my entire life. That life is sacred. Even the bad ones.” He was rambling. His mind running a mile a minute. “And I just… I-I… I keep thinking about his life. If he had a family. Was there some good in him? I never saw it. In the year that I’ve been working alongside him, I never saw anything decent or good. But he didn’t deserve that, right? No man deserves to be beaten and shot and-and just… thrown away, right?” His voice trembled as tears welled up and fell from his eyes. “I mean, Jesus Christ, that could’ve been me! I could’ve been the one standing guard and she could’ve shot me! I have three kids, Danny! They could’ve been without a father like that!” He snapped his fingers. “And my wife! She doesn’t even really know where I’m at, what I’ve been doing… She could’ve been a widow and for what? For what!”

“Okay…” Evers said. He kept his tone calm to soothe Washington’s fraying nerves. “Okay, I’ll talk to Singh. We’ll get you out. You don’t have to do this anymore. You did good work. Singh’ll understand.”

“No.” Washington wiped his eyes and runny nose. “No. I can’t leave now. I’ve gotten so close.”

“You’ve moved up the ranks, Peter, yeah, but… It could still be years before you get anywhere near Ramon’s inner sanctum. I can’t, in good conscious, subject you to more years of that if it’s doing this to you.”

“No, I mean,” he sniffled and cleared out his scratchy throat, “the Wests. They’re working with Ramon.”

“Ho-ly shit. Are you fuckin’ shittin’ me right now?”

“I saw her with my own eyes. Iris West. The guy I was telling you about? She killed him. Her brother Wally was right there with her, carrying what looked like a cache of weapons. I don’t know what’s going on. I think he’s planning something. Ramon, I mean.”

“My god…” Evers whispered to himself. This was it. This was his Great White. His Moby Dick trapped on the line. All he had to do was reel him in. But…maybe that would have to wait. He looked at the man sitting across from him. Worn, tired, broken. Evers couldn’t take down Ramon, Allen, and the Wests without also taking this poor man with them. He also didn’t know when he’d get this opportunity again. Having the three worst criminals Central City’s seen since Hunter Zolomon’s murder spree almost a decade ago in one place was a miracle. Contrary to his religious counterpart’s beliefs, they did not happen every day. So, if he wanted them, he had to act now. It was one hell of a quandary. “Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to decide, right here and now, what you wanna do. Because I’m gonna be real with you, okay? No bullshittin’. If you want out, now’s the time. By your texts this evening and our earlier conversation… it’s too much. I understand that. So, if you want to leave, if you want to go home, now is the time to say so. But… if you want to get Ramon, and nail his ass, then you have to stay. We need to know exactly what he’s planning so we can stop it and lock his ass up. And there’s no time to get a new guy in and have him climb his way up like you did. Only you can do this. But, Pete, again, if you feel like you can’t… then I need you to explicitly say so.”

He wanted to go home. That had been the one thought on Washington’s mind since he took this case. He wanted to go home to his wife and children. He had a relatively quiet little life. Filled with ballet shows and softball games, church every Sunday, a date night here or there. Nothing to covet but it was his, and he loved it. Missed it. He wanted it back so badly.

But… he also wanted to make sure Ramon and his crew could never hurt another soul again. He wanted Allen to finally pay for his crimes. He wanted both Wests permanently put away so no man—good or otherwise—would be callously shot and stepped over like trash in the street. Evers was right. Only he could do it. He had the intel, the connections, the clout. He just needed to catch Ramon’s eye and he’d be in.

He could do it. He could get Ramon’s trust. He had done it before with other syndicates. Going undercover was his forte. He had the skill but did he have the desire?

He surprised himself earlier. When Evers suggested petitioning Singh to pull him out, he declined without hesitation. The truth was he wanted to be on this case. He begged Singh to let him have it. This, he reasoned, would be his magnum opus. Taking down Ramon—that little shit that always thought he was smarter than everyone—enticed him. Not once did he second guess his decision. Nor did he think of his wife and children. They would be fine, he reckoned. Give him a year or two tops and Ramon would come tumbling down.

However, that was before he knew everything Ramon had his little fingers in. The black bile running beneath the common bookie front. The O’Malley Massacre and Hill kidnapping was just the beginning. There was so much more. The more he saw, the more he wished to un-see. The longer he stayed in, he went from bystander to participant. The more he engaged with this life, the more he longed to be away from it. To be home. Safe.

Yeah, he wanted out. Needed it, rather. Like one needs food and air. But what he wanted and needed more than anything, was to give his girls a world safe from people like Cisco Ramon, Barry Allen, and Iris and Wally West. He could not do that if he left now. “Okay,” he said.

“Okay what, Peter?”

“Okay I’m in. Let’s take them all down. What do you need me to do, Danny?”

\---------

“No!” Wally protested. “Absolutely not!”

“Wally!”

It had been two days since the West siblings arrived and the group was still finalizing their plans. Cisco was thorough. He hadn’t left a single stone unturned. Every “I” was dotted; every “T” was crossed. Iris had to admit it was flawless. The one issue being that Wally was not interested in playing his part. He was to drive the getaway van containing Dante while Iris and the rest of Cisco’s men laid down fire to keep the authorities off their backs. Wally quickly killed that notion.

“It’s a good plan, Wally,” Barry said while rubbing the stress from his eyes. He was so over this damn conversation. “You’re the fastest driver. You’re the only way we can ensure Dante’s safety.”

“I’m sorry, which one of y’all hit the white boy’s buzzer?” Wally asked. Iris chuckled at her brother’s comment. Cisco wasn’t entertained and Barry threw his arms up in frustration.

“You know what? If you don’t want to hear the white boy’s opinion…” Barry sat on the edge of Cisco’s desk and folded his arms. If the kid didn’t want to listen to reason, so be it. Barry didn’t even know why he was in this godforsaken meeting anyway. He had already fulfilled his part of the deal. If Cisco wasn’t so intent on him staying to dispel the gas himself, he would have been long gone.

“Would you guys just listen to me please?” Wally asked. “I know what the fuck I’m talking about, okay? Cisco, do you have any layouts of the city?”

“Yeah, somewhere…” He dug through the numerous rolls lining the wall of his office. “Here it is!” he said when he found the correct blueprint. Barry rose to allow him the full space to unfurl the plans.

“Okay…” Wally searched over the map. “Eckhart… Raleigh….” He continued to ramble off street names as his fingers rolled over them. “Main… 8th… Here you go! Turner and Easton. You see that alleyway there? We can park a van there, similar to the one Iris and me’ll be in. Except we paint them to look like police vehicles. That way they’ll blend in better and cause less suspicion than a regular black van will.”

“Okay, but who’ll be driving that van?” Iris asked.

“Doesn’t matter. Anyone. Cisco, you got some drivers on payroll?”

“Not any as good as you. The only one that came close was Rhodes.”

“Where’s he?”

“Your sister killed him.”

“Oops,” Iris said with a laugh.

“Thanks, sis. Okay that’s fine. We don’t need a fast driver just a good one. ‘Cause…” He led them to another table that had a 3D layout of the prison. He pointed to the getaway van. “You’ll be going out the back entrance, correct?” Cisco nodded. “If you got any spare men, put them in the front to hold off the backup while you, Dante, and Iris make it to the back where I’ll be parked.”

“Wait,” Barry interjected, “where will I be in this scenario?” He was _not_ going to be left in fucking Iron Heights!

“Where you’ve always been: by my side,” Cisco informed him. “I’ll need you out there with me by then. My men inside will handle the downfall.”

“Right, okay.” Wally said. “So… the Ramons, me and Iris, _and_ Barry, will be out back.”

“Right. We three along with my guys positioned there will handle anyone that’ll come our way.”

“Suppressing fire,” Iris added.

“Yes. Once we get them weakened, I’ll take off,” Wally said. “I’ll drive around, lead them on a chase then lose them on Turner and Easton.”

“And you sure you can lose them?” Cisco asked. “’Cause this plan was five years in the making, and I don’t want any amendments that’ll end with me or my brother dead or in jail.”

“I can lose them, Cisco. Trust me.”

“Yeah. A route like that’s cake for my baby brother,” Iris chimed in.

Cisco was putting a lot of faith in these two. God help them if they failed him. “Okay. Proceed.”

“Once we’re on Turner and Easton, I’ll give everyone less than a minute to get out and switch into the hideaway van.”

“By ‘everyone,’ I’m assuming he means you three,” Iris explained. “You won’t be getting rid of me that easily, kid,” she said to her brother.

He smiled at her then continued. “They’ll be on to us by then, so I suggest we paint the last van with something less conspicuous like a flower shop logo or some shit. From there you can blend in the traffic, while Iris and I keep the police busy.”

“Then the plan can proceed as usual. The driver will take my brother an me to Ferris Airport. My friend there will already have a plane waiting. Barry, my driver will drop you off wherever you want, but you’re also free to catch a ride with Dante and me.” Against his better judgement, Barry smiled at the offer. Though chances are he wouldn’t take him up on it. He wasn’t sure what the Ramons plans were beyond the breakout and couldn’t be certain how’d he fit into them exactly. Also, he was promised the city and he was aching to wear the crown. He couldn’t abdicate before he had the chance to take the throne. Still, he appreciated the consideration. It was nice to be thought about. Rather, it was nice having _Cisco_ think about him. “What about you two?” Cisco asked the Wests. “Where will you go?”

Wally started to reply but paused when he realized he didn’t have an answer. What _were_ they going to do? “Not sure yet,” Iris said. “Maybe go back to New York? Chicago?”

“C’mon, West, think bigger. You don’t have to stay in the states.”

Iris arched her brows in surprise. Leaving the country never occurred to her. “Yo… he’s right. Wally, we can go anywhere.”

“I always did wanna see Paris,” her little brother said, the excitement of a new adventure twinkled in his eyes.

“Then that’s where we’ll go. You and me in le Gai Paris!”

“God have mercy on the French,” Cisco joked. The group joined in. It was light and free. As if they were all old friends planning their summer vacation. Their reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door. “Enter!”

It was a guard. “Sir, Harper wants to speak with you.”

“Who?”

Alonso peeked his head in the door. “Me, sir.”

“What do you want?”

“Uh, I was,” he entered the room. “I was hoping to speak to you… privately, if you don’t mind.” He looked at the others. What a group! Barry was now seated on the couch; Iris and Wally stood side by side, she with her hands on her hips, he with his arms folded across his chest. In front stood Cisco. A relatively unassuming man at first glance. He stood feet shoulder width apart, hands firmly clasped in front of him, defensive as ever. They all looked at Alonso as if he were nothing. A gnat they were eager to shoo away.

“Whatever you got to say to me, you can say in front of my associates.”

“Very well, sir.” He stood in the center of the room. “I want to make myself available to you, sir. I’ve been with you for a little over a year now. Started as an errand boy, made third rank fairly quickly. I’m smart and strong and…” he glanced around the room. Blueprints still sat opened on the desk for any prying eyes to see. The diagram behind the Wests was barely visible. A canister of…something laid to the right of Barry’s feet on the floor. “…I have no idea what you’re planning, but I want in.”

 “Do you now?” Cisco asked with a smile. This just got interesting.

“Yes, sir. If you remember, I assisted on the Reinholt robbery in Metropolis last month. If it wasn’t for my quick thinking, you would’ve lost more men. I’m a great asset to have, Mr. Ramon. Please put me to your disposal.”

Iris rolled her eyes. There are people in the desert that’re less thirsty! “Cisco, get rid of him so we can get back to our meeting.” She didn’t bother to whisper or hide the disdain in her voice.

Cisco held up an index to silence her. “You’re in.” Iris was about to question him, but Wally tugged the sleeve of her shirt. He was curious about the decision as well, but now was not the time. Barry also wanted to speak but decided against it. If there was anything he learned in the past month, it’s that Francisco Ramon doesn’t do anything on a whim. “We have target practice in the morning. Be here no later than eight.”

“Yes, sir!” Alonso said, unable to hide his smile. He was desperate to uncover more of this man’s operation. The closer he got, the more they had to take him down. And, man, did he want these assholes buried so fucking deep. “Eight o’clock. I won’t let you down, sir.”

“I’m sure you won’t.” Cisco extended a hand to Alonso. The man shook it and exited the room, the superior guard following close behind.

“Now that he’s gone you wanna tell me what the hell that was?” Iris asked. “That fool is greener than newborn hockey!”

“Yeah, I mean, what? He does _one_ job for you and he’s in?” Wally asked. “You barely know this guy! How can you trust him?”

“I don’t,” Cisco admitted.

“What?!” Iris yelled in disbelief. “Why would you give some nigga you don’t know _or trust_ a job on this highly important mission? Do you even want it to succeed?”

“I gotta admit,” Barry chimed in, “it does seem a bit odd, Mr. Ramon. But…that’s the point, isn’t it?” Cisco tapped his nose. Barry was right on the money. “You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?”

“Always,” Cisco said with a smirk. “Wally, change of plans. You’ll be driving us to the airport. I’m sorry but I don’t trust anyone but you to do it. We’ll still make the switch at Turner, but instead, ol’ boy will take your van.”

“Can he even drive, Cisco?” Wally asked.

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. The whole point of your plan was that we needed a decoy, right?” Wally nodded. “Well, looks like God just dropped one into our laps.”

Iris laughed as the brilliance of Cisco’s decision sunk in. “An over-eager, inexperienced lil’ shit that’ll keep the cops busy…”

“While the rest of the plan will proceed as usual. Wally’ll get us to Ferris, after that you all can do whatever you want. Go to Paris, stay here, come with me… Either way, the cops’ll be looking for him.”

“Mmm. Beauty and brains.” Iris sauntered towards Cisco and wrapped her arms around his neck. "When God gives, she gives with both hands, don’t she?”

“That she does,” he replied, his eyes fixating on her glossed lips.

Wally rolled his eyes in disgust. “Well, I guess that’s my cue to leave!” He opened the door, brushed past the guard standing watch, and bounced down the stairwell.

Barry rose to exit as well but paused. He took a moment to watch them. In the short time the duo’s been together, they’ve been nigh inseparable. For a second—the quickest sliver of time—he felt a pang inside him. Something strange and unfamiliar. Something he rarely ever felt: jealousy.

It was a childish emotion. One that Barry refused to feed. Mainly because he didn’t have to. There was nothing he wanted that he could not have. He didn’t care for fancy jewelry or cars; and the house Cisco owned was nice—though too extravagant for Barry’s taste—but if he wanted any of those things, he could get it. He knew who to call and where to go to obtain it. And if his bed was cold, he could find someone to warm it without much persuasion.

Yet! He looked at the couple now—god, is that what they were?—and longed to have what they did. Was it the familiarity that came with a long relationship that he sought? Cisco and he had only been working together about a month. It was a good relationship, better than others had been by far, but they didn’t have the same rapport Cisco shared with Iris. She greeted him by his first name, spoke to him in ways that would have earned his subordinates severe punishment. She argued with him and Cisco listened. It was unmistakable, she was his equal. Barry was not. Sure, Cisco called him his right-hand man, and it was nice to hear, but, ultimately, it was an empty title. One that flittered up and away the moment Iris came into the picture. But he was not jealous!

Yes, he could do without the seemingly endless displays of affection, but he was human! There’s only so much a man can take! From the moment they were introduced, Iris charmed her way into Cisco’s arms until he was wrapped around her little finger. Barry could not blame him for falling. It took a special breed of man to not give into her temptations. She was clever, and strong, and an incredible flirt. The woman knew she was beautiful, and she toyed with men for her own pleasure. Barry watched Cisco succumb to her ways countless times.

Even Barry wasn’t immune. Mr. Ramon once sent her to his lab to check the progress of the gas—which took longer than he’d hope to complete due to the lack of supplies. She sat next to him on a table, despite the constant warnings of the hazards, wearing the world’s smallest skirt. If she moved the wrong—or, hell, the right way—he could’ve gotten a peek at what lied between those shapely, brown thighs. And it would’ve been nothing to reach over and caress one. Were they as soft as they looked, he wondered? Would she she do if he trailed two fingers up them until they rested at her warmth? Would she object? Would she curse or slap him for his audacity? Or would she lean into it? Would she spread her legs to give him greater access? Would she let him slip those two fingers in and out of her until she cooed his name like she did Cisco’s? The temptation was so powerful, that he had to literally leave the lab.

Iris was Cisco’s girl, which meant she was off-limits. Barry understood exactly what those parameters meant. He could look but not leer or ogle. Talking was permitted but only so much and for so long. Unless you were talking business, then you had better be talking weather. Nothing more! And touching! Touching was anathema. An unforgivable sin. Unless you had a death wish, or sought the life of a eunuch, you kept your hands—and all other parts—to yourself. Even if you found yourself dreaming late at night about those lips kissing and sucking on places.

Okay, so maybe he _was_ jealous! It was a stupid, useless emotion that engulfed his very core. Even when he found the strength to turn from them and follow Wally down the stairs, the image of the two embracing lingered. It irritated him that he wanted that to be him. Though he could not decide if it was Cisco or Iris he longed to hold more. He just wanted to be a part of it. He wanted Cisco to look at him the way he did Iris. He wanted Iris to touch and tease him the way she did Cisco. How he hated it!

He was only supposed to be here for a job! Nothing more! He had to get out of this house! He had to leave before he got wrapped up in unimportant matters like desire and, god help him, love. The sooner the job was done the better. Then he could leave and never think about Francisco Ramon and his warm, brown eyes and infectious smile. Or about Iris West’s soft lips and easy laugh. Thankfully, the day would be here soon. Once it was completed, once Dante was freed, Barry could begin the process of forgetting. As he bounced down the steps and out the exit, resolved in his decision to flush the duo out of his system, another unexpected emotion crept into his heart. This one, perhaps, was more powerful, and certainly more impactful than the last: sadness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, yall are G's for making it this far. I love yall so much.


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